Page 42 of Wicked By Design

“Is that what you believe?” he countered, knowing it was not. For reasons he did not understand, she persisted in seeing the best in him. This was bait and nothing more.

“I believe you are afraid of something, but although I have promised to stand beside you no matter what, you refuse to confide in me.” She studied him, her gaze so searing he turned away, for the uncomfortable suspicion that she might read his bloody mind was not quite ridiculous enough for him to disregard.

“Won’t you trust me, just a little?” she asked him. “I know you have no reason to, but I am on your side, Damian, and I only wish to understand.”

“No!” He snapped the word out without even thinking about it, even though he knew she was entirely sincere.

“Perhaps I shall ask Gideon, or perhaps Hetty knows your secret. Your brother and my sister seem to share everything, every intimacy.”

Despite himself, despite being certain she was only probing and had no intention of asking them any such thing, he flinched.

“I thought so.” There was no satisfaction in her words, only resignation, as if everyone knew some tantalising secret and she was being kept out in the cold on purpose. “I suppose I cannot blame you for keeping me out of your life, but I hope you might trust me one day. I would not let you down.”

She turned to walk away, looking so utterly disconsolate he couldn’t stand it.

“Fine,” Damian said bitterly, for what else could he say. As ever, what choice did he have? “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell every sordid bloody word of it, but don’t say I didn’t try to protect you from it, Celia. This was your choice, remember that.”

“I will remember,” she told him earnestly, holding his gaze. “Say what you will.”

Damian considered her for a moment and then shook his head. She was too bloody romantic, too full of hope, she would never believe it was as dreadful as he said it was. She would think him melodramatic, or that she could mend it or make it better. Unless….

“No. I have a better idea.”

Chapter 9

A Good Year For the Roses

Enroute to Hollywell House, East Sussex, 17th September 1816

When he had left her the previous day, Damian had instructed Cilly to be ready to leave at eight thirty, and to keep to her room and refuse any contact with her father in the meantime. He had arrived promptly and given no further explanation.

“Where are we going, Damian?” Cilly asked tentatively. Since their confrontation with her father yesterday and… and that kiss, the effects of which were even now vibrating beneath her skin, Damian had kept away.

Cilly glanced at Nichols, who chaperoned them. The woman said nothing, but her placid countenance soothed Cilly’s stomach churning anxiety, knowing there was little that would ruffle her loyal maid’s composure.

She turned her attention back to Damian, who still hadn’t answered her, only gazed out of the window, his expression bleak. To say his mood was uncertain was to wildly understate things. Cilly felt as though she stood atop a sheet of fine glass, which crazed and cracked beneath her feet. One wrong step and she would plunge, cutting herself to ribbons.

Yet this was the crux of everything. She felt this instinctively. If she could navigate this… this storm, this approaching catastrophe, and find a way through it, a way for them both to survive it, then they would be all right. They might even be happy.

The odds seemed stacked against her, but for once, she felt she might have a chance of winning something precious.

“Damian?”

He looked around at her, his gaze unfocused for a moment, as if he were dragging himself from another place back to the here and now.

“Where are we going?” she repeated.

“To find the answers to your questions,” he replied gently.

Cilly swallowed, foreboding sweeping over her like a cold, wet fog, clinging to her skin and smothering hope. Stubborn as ever, Cilly merely acknowledged his words with a slight nod. Yet the sorrow in his eyes pierced her. What terrible secret was he going to reveal to her? Whatever it was, he feared it. She saw it in his expression, heard it in his voice—resignation.

He believed that his actions today would put an end to her hopes for a real marriage, for love, for children. For they both knew she would never give up on him, and she felt that knowledge scared him more than anything else. If nothing else, she would be his friend. She suspected she would never stop hoping for more, yet she must respect the choices he made, for what else was there to do when she had already taken so many choices away from him.

Whatever it was he would reveal this day, he believed she would fear it too.

After what felt like an eternity, the carriage drew up outside an elegant house.

Damian helped her down and Cilly opened her mouth to ask who lived here and closed it again. There was something about the place, something… unsettling.