Page 61 of Wicked By Design

Hetty, detecting some unspoken tension, took a seat, smiling at him, and for once, with no warning glint in her eyes.

“Well, you’re getting married the day after tomorrow, and the last I heard, Grandmama was determined to make it a lavish affair. I assumed you’d need us, so I dragged poor Gideon away from his mistress—I mean, his hotel—and here we are.” Hetty grinned at Deon to ensure everyone knew she was teasing before turning to Celia. “What do you need us to do?”

“Not a thing,” Celia said with a smile that looked just a little stiff around the edges. “Damian had a word and all my original plans stand. It’s just us, Gee-Gee, Hawkney, and Sheringham too, as he’s still here. I think Gee-Gee wishes to invite Colonel Hamilton, as he’s an old friend of the family, but that’s all.”

“Oh.” Hetty looked a little deflated, and then turned to Damian with a confused expression. “What on earth did you say to her?”

Damian shrugged. “I just pointed out that Celia was getting a bad enough bargain as it was, there was no need to compound things by making her do it in a more public setting. If you’re done, Celia? I need to stretch my legs.”

“Of course,” she said, though she didn’t meet his eyes. He stood and made a show of stretching his back. “If you’ll excuse me?”

Before anyone could tell him they didn’t, he escaped the room and then wondered what to do. He could hardly run away. Celia would want words with him and if they didn’t get them over with, they would fester. It was better to lance the metaphorical boil today. He sighed, dithering in the hallway.

“Fancy a game of billiards?”

He turned, not entirely surprised to discover Deon had followed him. “Why not?”

They made their way to the billiards room. A large baize table dominated the space and Damian allowed Deon to do the work of setting things up, taking his time choosing a cue.

“So, you took her to meet Mama.”

Damian gave Deon a look that suggested he watch his step. Inevitably, Deon ignored the warning and carried on without stopping for breath. As he spoke, he placed the white ball upon its spot, lining up his shot.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. I used to have to beg and plead for months to get you to visit. But I suppose our objectives were rather different. I wished for Mama to see the son she actually likes, and you were hoping she’d scare Celia away. Foolish, Damian, very foolish. These women have steel spines, if you’d not yet figured that out.”

Damian glowered at his cue, making a production of chalking the tip.

“Thank you so much for explaining my motivation and Celia’s reaction to it, very useful,” he said, his tone scathing.

Deon only laughed. “You’re welcome. I’m not wrong either, am I? Is that why you bought her the brooch, to make up for being such an arse—”

“Are you playing this bloody game or not?” Damian demanded furiously. Deon had not always been able to read him so accurately. Something had changed of late and he didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t like it.

Possibly aware he was on thin ice, Deon nodded and they played in silence for a while with Damian losing badly, which was not like him. He’d usually beat Deon eight games out of ten, mainly because he got a great deal more practice. At worst, he’d lose by a point or two. Today he was being crucified.

Increasingly irritated by his inability to concentrate, he leaned over the table and took his shot. The white ball clipped its target and wandered harmlessly away.

Damian muttered an oath, looking up to see Deon raise an eyebrow.

“Well, that was pathetic.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it, you could have made that shot blindfolded. What’s wrong with you?”

Damian sent him a scathing glance. “Oh, let me think. I’ve been trapped into marriage, forcing me to overturn my previous vow never to wed. Celia is a kind, sweet young woman despite her actions, and desperate to love everyone and everything. Forcing her to endure married life to a rat like me, and with no children to comfort her, will be like clipping a swallow's wings and telling it never to fly. For God’s sake, Deon, she deserves better, she deserves every happiness, and I cannot give her any of it. Why on earth should I be preoccupied?”

He threw the cue down on the table and stalked to the sideboard where a decanter and glasses stood waiting. It wasn’t yet noon, but he needed a bloody drink.

Deon came to stand beside him and reached for a glass. Damian glanced up to see understanding in his brother’s eyes. If anyone could comprehend the depths of this disaster, it was him.

Damian poured them both a hefty measure and they chinked glasses.

“Your very good health,” Damian said with a sneer, and then downed the lot in one go.

Deon watched him and sucked in a breath before taking a more measured sip. Damian refilled his glass.

“Something to say, brother?”