Page 52 of Wicked By Design

“It sounds just the thing, thank you,” Celia agreed.

The waitress nodded, smiled at Damian, and hurried off.

“She likes you,” Celia observed, quirking one eyebrow. “A very pretty girl, too.”

Damian frowned, realising he’d not noticed. “Was she?”

Celia shot him an odd look, as if he were telling fibs, but he merely shrugged.

The girl returned shortly thereafter, and Damian realised she was indeed a pretty creature, and one who smiled at him rather warmly. He darted a glance at Celia to see if she’d noticed and she returned a ‘didn’t I say so?’ look as she stripped off her gloves.

Was she jealous? It was hard to tell, but he hoped she was and that troubled him. He ought not wish for such things. After all, he wasn’t planning to live the life of a monk once they were married. He would take a mistress, as many married men did, and… and that would hurt her. There was no point in pretending that Celia would not be wounded if he was unfaithful, no matter the terms of their marriage. goddammit, how had this become so bloody complicated?

He did not want to hurt her. The very idea made his own heart contract painfully.

“You know, you may order your own bun if you really want one, but please stop frowning so prodigiously at mine. You’re putting me off,” Celia said, a piece held between her fingers, suspended in mid-air before her.

Damian rearranged his face. He was supposed to be making up for the dreadful morning she’d endured, not making things worse.

“Forgive me. I was woolgathering.”

“Not happy thoughts, I collect,” she remarked with a gentle smile.

“How is the bun?” he asked, determined to change the subject.

“Delicious. Here, not that you deserve such treats.” Celia pulled a section of the bun apart and held it out to him.

Damian regarded it for a moment, a strange tension coiling in his belly. He leaned in, allowing her to feed it to him. Though he knew it was stupid, he could not resist meeting her eyes, as her fingers brushed his lips. He heard her swift inhale, saw the way her eyes darkened, and longing seared him, burning away everything else and leaving such raw need it hurt.

She looked away from him, systematically pulling the bun into pieces. Damian watched as she lifted each piece to her mouth. The buttery sweetness still lingered on his tongue, and more than anything, he wanted to taste it on her, too. Her tongue swept out, swiping a little of the sticky glaze from her lips, and a bolt of pure lust shot to his groin.

Damian smothered a groan and shifted uncomfortably, too aware of how his body was reacting. This was bad. This was very bad indeed. He’d always liked Celia, had always thought her beautiful, but… but this was different. This was unlike anything he’d experienced before. Lusting after women was second nature, he’d spend the better part of his adult life indulging his worst impulses and knew better than most how to keep his urges under control, so they did not rule him.

Keeping himself from gazing at her plush lips, however, seemed to be utterly impossible, and when she put her finger in her mouth and sucked the remnants of sticky bun from the tip, his breath caught.

Pack it in, he told himself severely, forcing himself to think of all the worst things he could to diminish his burgeoning arousal before he embarrassed himself. Luckily, he had plenty to choose from.

“Are you all right?”

He looked up at Celia’s gentle enquiry and smiled, though he feared it was more of a grimace. “Fine. How was the bun?”

“Utterly delicious. I think they might be my favourite thing in the entire world.”

He smiled at that, charmed at her enthusiasm. She sipped her tea, gazing out of the window and to his dismay, he discovered he was staring at her mouth again. It quirked into a little smile, and she leaned closer to him, whispering.

“Look at those two, do you think we shall look like that in forty or fifty years?”

Damian laughed as he looked at the elderly couple walking arm in arm. “No, you’ll have stopped talking to me decades earlier, I’m sure, though that lady doesn’t seem to draw breath.”

“He seems happy enough with her chatter,” Celia remarked crossly.

“He’s deaf. I doubt he’s heard a word she’s said since seventeen ninety and that suits him fine.” Damian lifted an eyebrow at her and she huffed.

“How unromantic you are. I believe they are still madly in love.”

As they watched, the old man carefully steered his wife around a puddle, and the old lady looked up and smiled fondly at him.

“Ha!” she said, triumphant.