Page 28 of Wicked By Design

Damian chuckled.

“Well, well, what an unexpected pleasure this is!”

Damian turned as the reverend bustled into the room. The man seemed to bring with him a sense of energy and goodwill that filled the room, and even Damian felt a reluctant smile curve his lips as the fellow grasped his hand and pumped it up and down as if he expected water to spurt from his ears.

“I confess, my lord, that having got your brother to the altar, I had my sights set upon you, and you may ask Mr Bramwell yourself if you doubt me, but here you are. Congratulations to you both.”

He stood and regarded them, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Ah, and what a fine, handsome couple too. Delightful. Simply delightful.”

Damian slanted a glance at Celia, who narrowed her eyes at him, giving a tiny shake of her head.

“Ah, but you have not yet heard the circumstances of our betrothal,” Damian replied mournfully. “You see, I am a very bad fellow, as I’m sure my brother informed you, and I ruined her. For her money.”

“Ah.” The reverend nodded thoughtfully before turning to Celia. “How strange, because I heard you ruined him, my lady? Did I get it wrong?”

“Reverend Honeywell, I have it on excellent authority—that authority being the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney—you are never wrong,” Celia replied earnestly.

Damian rolled his eyes.

“Well, now that little confusion is out of the way, would you like to come through to my study? I presume you are here to make arrangements for the happy day,” the reverend said, still beaming.

Damian’s mood seemed to become increasingly irascible the wider the fellow’s smile grew. “It isn’t a happy day,” he said irritably. “It’s a day, like any other. There’s a scandal. Her reputation is shredded. For once in my life, I’m doing the honourable thing and getting fifteen thousand quid in my hand for the pleasure. We just need a date and time and to fill in whatever blasted documents are necessary.”

Celia glared at him. “Thank you so much for clarifying the situation.”

Heat burned the back of his neck, and a sensation horribly akin to shame made him squirm. Bloody hell, but he was an arse.

“Ah, it’s all rather unsettling,” the reverend said gently. “Especially for a fellow who has been a bachelor for so long, and probably intended to stay that way, hmm? Makes a chap a little nervy.”

“I am not—”

An expression from his intended bride that could have etched glass made Damian think better of saying any more. He snapped his mouth shut and made a polite ‘after you’ gesture to Celia, who swept past him and followed the reverend to his study. The chill in the air as she left made his skin prickle.

Bloody hell.

Damian resolved to keep quiet and endure the rest of the interview, or whatever it was the reverend had in mind. It seemed safer. After all, he’d only come to save Celia from the embarrassment of meeting the fellow by herself, and so far, he’d gone out of his way to mortify her.

So, he allowed Celia to make the arrangements, choose the date and time, and simply nodded his agreement when she turned to him for his opinion.

Then Celia gave her full name and date and place of birth and all the relevant details. Reverend Honeywell next turned to him, clearly expecting him to provide his full name and titles. Hell.

Damian hesitated, slanted Celia a glance, and put up his chin.

“Damian Randolph Julius Bramwell, Viscount Rivington… Baron Pottleby.”

As if on cue, he heard a smothered giggle from beside him.

He turned to glower at Celia, whose face was rigid, her eyes blazing. He thought she was holding her breath.

“Is there a problem?” he asked tightly.

She shook her head.

“Date of birth?” the reverend asked politely, though his eyes twinkled a little too brightly for Damian’s liking.

“Octob—”

“Pottleby!” Celia burst out, apparently unable to contain herself any longer. She dissolved into hysterics.