Page 25 of Wicked By Design

Finch nodded. “Will you be coming back to eat?”

“Not if I can help it,” Damian muttered, and hurried out, making a mental note to find out when The Mermaid had a free room available. He’d settle for the broom cupboard if it came to it. Now that the summer was over and the weather was becoming cooler, surely people would be packing up and going home.

Damian strode through the town, ignoring the whispers and stares. It wasn’t as if it was a novel experience. It was only that he usually deserved the scandalised looks and gasps of horror. Well, he didn’t think he precisely deserved them on Miss Bradford’s behalf, but it had not been his finest hour either. He would try to do better for Celia. Whilst she was entirely at fault, he understood her desperation. He might be a bad bet as a husband, but he was a damn sight prettier than the Earl of Crenshaw. Damian laughed softly, darkly amused by that.

His mood lightened as Hatherley Hall came into sight and he nodded at Howard, who greeted him, if not warmly, then a little less like Damian had murdered the fellow’s firstborn.

“Lady Cecilia is on the terrace, my lord. Shall I announce you?”

“No, I thank you, Howard. I shall surprise her. May I ask, has the Reverend Honeywell been to call?”

“No, sir. Were you expecting him?”

Damian shook his head. “No, only it appears he is on my scent.”

Howard’s lips quirked with amusement, though his expression did not change. “I do not doubt it, my lord.”

Damian narrowed his eyes at the fellow who only bowed politely and took himself off. What the devil did he mean by that?

Damian made his way to the terrace, remembering the first time he’d come here. He’d teased Celia, enjoying her blushes as he’d apologised for the shocking spectacle she and her sister had witnessed. He and Deon had been skinny dipping in the sea, and unaware they had an audience. Celia had risen to his baiting wonderfully, making a crushing comment about being quite undisturbed by the scene, for she had dozens of little boy cousins who delighted in shocking the ladies by waving their privates about.

It had been all he could do not to burst out laughing and applaud her. As it was, he had grinned wickedly and reminded her he was not one of her little boy cousins. She had blushed scarlet and turned away, but the look she had given him when she dared meet his eyes again seemed to have been imprinted upon his skin. The heat blazing in that look had singed him.

He’d left shortly afterwards, having decided Lady Cecilia was a deal more dangerous than she looked. As he’d no intention of becoming leg-shackled, he’d decided to give her a wide berth. He’d not realised at the time that this ought to have meant a distance of at least twenty miles to be on the safe side.

Though the day was not precisely warm, it was mild, and he found Celia sitting in the sunshine, her paints and an easel before her. Her brush was in her hand, but her gaze was on the horizon and she appeared troubled.

“Thinking of running away, my dear?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice and looked around, her face brightening at the sight of him. Damian squashed the little dart of pleasure that gave him, reminding himself it would do neither of them any good if he became fond of her.

“Oh, good morning, Damian. How glad I am that it is you. Do sit down. Would you like tea?”

“No, I thank you. Were you expecting someone else?” he asked, making himself comfortable beside her on the padded bench.

She made a face of disgust that made him smile. “No. But I’ve had three callers already and if I get another, I may shoot them, or myself,” she said, thrusting the paintbrush into a jar of water and rinsing it with vigour.

“Ah. How many holes must I dig?”

She looked back at him in confusion. “Holes?”

“For the bodies. They’ll need burying, you know.”

She gave a sudden bark of laughter and Damian grinned at her. “Oh, yes. Silly me. I never do think far enough ahead.”

“Evidently. Just look who you are engaged to,” he remarked easily, brushing a speck of lint from his sleeve.

She sighed and sat back, drying the bristles of her brush carefully on a rag. “Oh, no. That’s all working out splendidly. I’m just tired of people acting like I’ve lost something of value. If they were engaged to marry the Earl of Crenshaw, they might realise just what a splendid match I’ve made. Though I’m afraid Miss Richardson, who called upon me with her mama—both so full of pretty little daggers—was rather worse afflicted with the green-eyed monster. I’m certain she envied me and pity had nothing to do with it. I should watch out for her, were I you.”

“I am aware of Miss Richardson,” he replied dryly. “That apple did not fall far from the tree. Her mother is far worse, believe me.”

Celia sat up, gazing at him with interest. “You don’t say? But she’s such a stickler for propriety.”

“Oh, but I do say, Celia, my dear. She’s had an endless parade of lovers, you know. She once accosted me behind a potted palm and groped my person as if she had a claim on it.”

He watched, amused, as Celia’s expression segued from one of interest to utter fury. “She did what? How dare she put her hands on you like that! Oh, Damian, I’m so sorry. When I think all the time she was here, she sat there smirking and making out like she pitied me, and she did that… to you! I hope you said something appalling to her,” she replied hotly. “For if you did not, I shall. Just wait until I see her again.”

Damian held out a hand, startled by her vehemence, and a little touched if he were honest. Whilst he had believed that she would defend him as part of their deal, it had never occurred to him that she might mean it.