Page 40 of Wicked By Design

“Cecilia,” he said glacially, and the way he spoke her name made her heart jump. She told herself there was nothing he could do nor say to hurt her, not any longer. She had believed any affection she had felt for him had withered and died years since, but it appeared that was not entirely true. “We will indeed speak. In private.”

“You may use my study,” Hawkney said, gesturing to the door.

Langley nodded curtly and walked through, turning on the threshold as he noted Damian escorting her. “I will speak to Cecilia alone.”

It was an order, and one that brooked no argument.

“No, your grace, you will not,” Damian replied, matching his tone.

Cilly’s gaze leapt to his face, but his cold blue-grey gaze was focused on the duke. Good Lord, but how had she chosen a man with the same icy eyes as her father? Yet Damian’s eyes were not always so cold. They could light with laughter, and with warmth too. She had seen that for herself.

Still, it seemed her father wished to rake her over the coals first before putting whatever proposal he’d come up with to her fiancé. “Damian, it’s all right, I—”

“It is not all right,” he said, taking her hand. “I am your fiancé, dammit, and I have the right and the duty to protect you. If he wishes to speak with you, he may do so in my presence, or not at all.”

Her father regarded Damian as if he was of no consequence and Cilly felt his indignation burn as wildly as her own.

“Fiancé,” the duke murmured with a short laugh. “We shall see about that.”

So saying, he turned and walked into the room.

The words confirmed everything Cilly had feared most.

“Celia?”

All her lovely plans, everything she had so carefully created for herself suddenly looked as substantial as a house of cards, and her father was determined to send them fluttering away. She closed her eyes and took a breath.

No.

Everything depended on Damian now. Which meant it would be fine. He was a good man at heart, an honourable one. He would not let her down.

“Celia, God dammit! What’s wrong?”

She smiled a little at that and looked up at him, a glimmer of humour burning through the shock. “Nothing. I… I was shaken for a moment there, but I’m fine now.”

Damian watched as she lifted her hand, as if she might touch his face before thinking better of it. “We’d best go in. He hates being kept waiting.”

She walked towards the study, head up, spine straight, and Damian could do nothing more than follow her, foreboding a slimy, cold slithering thing in his guts.

He closed the door behind them and went to stand beside Celia.

The duke stood before the large windows that looked out upon the pretty gardens beneath and turned to face them. “I won’t waste any more of my time over this business. The earl will still take you, Celia, though he’s demanding another ten thousand for taking on damaged goods—”

The colour left Celia’s cheeks at the crass words, though she held herself with pride. How many insults had she borne from this man to endure such slander with barely a blink?

Damian’s temper lit.

“How dare you!” Damian growled, incensed at hearing Celia described in such terms. “And he’ll do no such—”

“As for you, my fine fellow,” the duke went on, white with rage. “You must have known I would withhold my daughter’s dowry, as I did to your brother when he stole Henrietta from her family.”

“Stole her, that’s a good one!” Damian’s bark of laughter made the duke clench his jaw, but the bastard carried on talking.

“So, the lure was a mere fifteen thousand pounds. Luckily for you, I am a rich man. I’ll give you twenty thousand to go away without a word.”

Damian stared at the duke, disbelieving. He truly thought money was the answer to all his problems, that he could push everyone around and arrange things just as he wished.

He smiled at the duke, a not nice smile—one at which he was especially adept. Satisfaction glinted in the old man’s eyes as he stepped forward, believing he knew what Damian would say.