Page 67 of Wicked By Design

“Swans. Yes. Very good. Come along,” he said briskly.

She said nothing more but hurried after him and he led her out of the room, through the house to the music room, out onto the terrace, and then out into the garden. He didn’t stop until he reached the pretty fountain they had stood beside once before, what seemed a lifetime ago now.

It was dry today, though the skies remained stubbornly grey. A chill wind rustled through the gardens, sending autumn leaves tumbling down and skittering over the paths.

Cilly crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. Damian cursed himself.

“Forgive me, I was so eager to escape the chaos I didn’t stop to get your coat. Here.” He shrugged out of his and settled it around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said, and there was that look in her eyes again, one that spoke of admiration and affection and… and things he was not ready to contemplate.

“It’s lovely and warm,” she added with another shiver, but of pleasure this time.

It did odd things to him, that shiver, the knowledge that his body heat warmed her. Tomorrow, they would be married, and she would belong to him in every way that mattered. His to keep, to take to his bed… that was the usual way of things, obviously. When one married there was a wedding night. Which was what he needed to speak to her about. Before she got… ideas.

“Come and sit down,” he said, guiding her towards a stone bench that overlooked the fountain.

“Very well.”

She settled beside him, her hip pressed to his. He ignored it stoically, for there were important things to discuss. “We need to talk, Celia.”

“Very well.” She gazed at him expectantly.

Damian nodded and cleared his throat. “About… About….”

“The future?” she suggested.

“Yes. That. Precisely. The future. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He hesitated. “I want you to know that… that what I said, well, I meant it.”

“What you said?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

He frowned at her. “Oh. Yesterday. What I said yesterday, I meant it, about… not letting you live alone.”

Her lovely face creased into a smile and she leaned into him. “I am so glad, Damian. I should miss you dreadfully. I’m rather used to you being around now, you know.”

Damian gazed at her, getting lost in her eyes for a long moment before clearing his throat. “Thank you. I’m… used to you too.”

Her smile grew broader.

“But there are practical things, rules, I think, that we need to establish.”

“Rules?”

Damian nodded. He’d lain awake all last night trying to figure out a way they could be together without being together, and the only thing that would keep his sanity intact was if there were rules.

Celia considered this for a moment, absently taking the sleeve of his coat and rubbing it against her cheek, like a cat seeking a caress. For a moment, Damian was absurdly jealous of his own coat sleeve. He told himself to get a grip.

“Like, not smoking a pipe in the dining room?” she suggested. “Grandmama said Grandfather smoked a pipe and it drove her mad, especially around food. She hated it.”

“I don’t smoke,” Damian replied. “But… well, I suppose a bit like that, yes.”