Page 73 of Wicked By Design

The words were bitter and spoken with such venom Hawkney’s heart ached for the man.

“That’s not true,” Hawkney said gently. “And I believe Miss Foxworthy will show the real you, Marcus, the one we all know and respect for being the admirable pain in the arse that he is.”

Marcus snorted, shaking his head. “Well, I suppose we shall see.”

Hawkney smiled, wondering if the lady artist knew what she was letting herself in for. He suspected this portrait would be a battle of wills, and Marcus was well used to warfare, but then he had never faced a foe like Eustacia Foxworthy.

Damian’s guts were in turmoil, his palms were clammy, and he was certain he had a fever, for hot and cold chills kept thrilling down his spine. He wondered if he could plead illness and defer the wedding, just for a few days, or weeks, or possibly a decade. Maybe then he’d be ready.

A sudden change in the atmosphere, of people coming to attention, took his notice, and he turned his head.

Any notion of fleeing dissolved like honey in hot water as he saw Celia standing in the entrance to the church. Next to her behemoth of a brother, she appeared to be as delicate as spun sugar, the sunlight catching the silver threads in the gown he had bought for her. It gave her the look of a fairy queen, ethereal and not of this world. Yet he knew that wasn’t right. Celia was flesh and blood, not a fragile doll, all brittle porcelain and painted smiles, ready to break at the slightest suggestion of difficulty.

Gabriel had the right of it. Like her sister, there was something steely inside Celia. He had sensed it from the outset: the rebellious streak, the implacable sense of determination. She meant for them to have a marriage of hearts and minds, not names and properties, and he did not know how to deny her. Despite his terror for the future, despite every horror that filled his mind, he could not abandon her and leave her to live her days alone when he might be with her. Yet he did not know how to be with her and hold enough of himself back to keep them both safe. He very much feared it was not possible. Not anymore.

Suddenly, she was standing beside him. Her brother sent him a glare that suggested his nether parts would be removed swiftly if he so much as thought about doing anything to upset Celia, before stepping back. The daft sod. If only he knew Damian would do the job himself rather than inflict harm on the woman beside him.

Celia lifted the lace veil that had kept her face hidden and Damian’s breath caught. Not because she was beautiful, though she undeniably was, but because there was such concern in her eyes. It was her wedding day, the day most girls dreamed of and hoped to be the happiest of their lives, and she was worrying about him.

He felt sick. He felt like a damned fool and entirely unworthy of his bride. Well, he would do better.

Taking her hand, he squeezed her fingers gently and smiled at her. “I will never deserve the gift fate bestows upon me this day, Celia, but I will do my best. Of all the promises I am about to make, I wish you to understand that.”

He leaned in and touched his lips to her cheek. When he straightened up, he saw her eyes were too bright, and she was gazing up at him like… like she adored him.

Damian swallowed. It wasn’t an act anymore. He knew it was not, and the realisation scared him more than any vow he was about to make.

Cilly exited the church, blinking in the sunlight as rice rained down from above. Her heart beat furiously, making her breathless and lending a slightly dreamlike unreality to everything about her. There was a part of her that did not quite believe it was real. She was married. She was Lady Rivington and the handsome man upon whose arm her hand rested was her husband.

He had not run away. She had been right to put her trust, her future, into his hands. If only they could survive the coming night, she knew they could survive anything.

Damian had been everything she could have dreamed of, speaking his vows solemnly and with the air of a man who intended to keep them. Surreptitiously, she slanted a glance at him, her insides quickening at the sight of his beautiful profile. Perhaps sensing her gaze, he turned, and his grey-blue eyes were not the icy depths of the North Sea today. Instead, they warmed as they looked upon her, his expression somewhat rueful.

“Well, my love, now you have the tiger by the tail,” he murmured, sotto voce.

Cilly snorted, shaking her head. “You flatter yourself, my lord. I see no tiger, only a big tabby cat in need of a little domesticating, a little love, and a soft place to lay his head.”

He laughed at that, his eyes sparkling with appreciation. “Dreadful girl. How you wound my manly pride.”

“Not at all. You enjoy it when I am rude and provoking,” Cilly retorted. “Besides, I am right.”

His gaze grew more serious, a glimmer of unease showing itself. “I hope so,” he replied earnestly, and then turned to speak to Hawkney, who had come to congratulate them.

The next hours passed in something of a daze for Cilly, who was far too consumed with the enormity of the night ahead to relax and enjoy herself. She ate but did not taste the splendid wedding breakfast. She drank, but the bubbles in the champagne did not go to her head. Throughout it all she laughed and smiled and engaged in conversations that she could never again recall. Her every attention was focused upon Damian, and so she was rivetingly aware of his growing tension as the day slipped away and the moment for them to leave was upon them.

Cilly excused herself to change out of the beautiful gown she had married in and into a carriage dress, though it seemed a lot of fuss and bother to make the short journey to The Mermaid. They would stay there for a few days and then return to the hall until they had found somewhere to rent or buy. Gee-Gee had been extremely generous and given them a suite of rooms which were apart from the family, so they might have a little privacy at least. She knew Damian was not happy about it, but he had accepted the arrangement without argument. Cilly wondered if he believed the proximity of other people might make things easier on them both. He clearly found their growing intimacy a challenge.

Hetty gave her an encouraging smile as Cilly made her way down the stairs, rushing forward to take her hands.

“Another beautiful new gown. You will certainly be the most stylish woman of the ton if your husband has his way,” she said with a laugh, though Cilly could hear the forced cheer and knew Hetty was almost as anxious about the coming wedding night as she was. “And if he messes this up, I will—” she began, her voice a heated whisper, but Cilly pressed a finger to her lips.

“I’m a married lady now, Hetty, and I am no fool. I once asked you to allow me to arrange my own future as I saw fit. Nothing has changed, but you do not know how it comforts me to know I can turn to you if I need to.”

Hetty sighed and nodded. “You are right, of course, and you know you can. Always.”

She pressed a swift kiss to Cilly’s cheek and released her, and Cilly walked towards the front door to discover Damian awaiting her.

“The carriage is ready, my lady. If you are?”