Page 75 of Wicked By Design

“Ah, I was just about to call you. The ices—” Damian’s voice faltered as he turned away from the table he’d been fussing over and looked at her. He had unbent enough to remove his coat but was otherwise fully dressed.

Cilly’s heart thudded hard as his gaze travelled over her, over the wicked gown. It was dyed a deep blue, almost black, the edges all trimmed with black lace, and it tied at intervals down the front. Yet the lace and the ties allowed glimpses of bare skin, and the plunging neckline displayed her decolletage to advantage. Besides which, the material was so sheer that the outline of her form was easily discerned.

Damian was quiet for a long moment, though Cilly felt the heat and weight of his gaze.

“Well,” he said after a long moment. “I see you were not understating your intention to fight dirty.”

Cilly smiled. “I did warn you.”

“You did.”

She hesitated, suddenly wondering if she had misjudged. It had seemed a marvellous idea for their wedding night, but now she wondered if was entirely fair. It was all well and good to joke about fighting dirty, but Damian’s feelings were no joke, and she ought not to make light of them. “I’ll go and get dressed,” she said, turning hurriedly back towards the bedroom and feeling wretched for having blundered so badly.

“No!”

Cilly turned, glancing at him uncertainly.

“You look beautiful, and I shall enjoy the view, I assure you.” Pulling out a chair, he gestured for her to come and sit. “Your ices and champagne, Lady Rivington.”

“Damian, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. Come and sit down.”

Cilly walked to the table and allowed him to seat her, watching him apprehensively as he took the seat opposite. His hands were steady as he poured two glasses of champagne, but she felt the tension rolling off him in waves and wondered how best to put him at ease.

Reaching for her glass, she raised it, chinking it against his gently. “To us,” she said with a smile. “No matter what the future holds, may we always be the best of friends.”

He smiled at that and nodded. “And to you, Celia. May you be happy, despite your husband.”

Cilly tutted her disapproval at this toast but drank from the glass and set it down. “I believe I shall be happy because of my husband, especially if he fills my room with sweet peas and plies me with champagne and ices. Damian, this was so thoughtful of you, thank you.”

He shrugged and uncovered the large silver dome that filled the centre of the table.

“Oh!” Cilly gasped, pressing her hands to her heart with delight as she gazed at the most splendid arrangement of ices she’d ever seen. Displayed upon a bed of plain chipped ice, there were a dozen little bowls of delicate blue-and-white china. Each was decorated, some with sweet peas, others with tiny asters or fruit cleverly cut to form delicate roses.

“You once said your ambition was to taste all the ices they served here. I wasn’t sure if you had achieved your goal yet, so… well, they’re all here.”

He looked torn between embarrassment and annoyance that she was so delighted and Cilly forcefully held back her desire to throw herself at him and kiss him witless. She had already misjudged things and could not afford to do so again. Friends, she reminded herself. She could be his friend if nothing else.

“I have not,” she admitted with remarkable calm. “Let us taste each one and see if we can guess the flavours.”

“Very well,” he said, picking up his spoon.

Cilly looked at the wonderful display and went directly for a deep red bowl. “This must be raspberry,” she guessed, taking a spoonful. She sighed as the frozen treat melted on her tongue. “Oh, it is. Simply delicious. Here, you try.” She took another spoonful, holding it out to him.

Damian hesitated before leaning in and allowing her to feed him. His rather stern expression softened as he tasted the ice. “That is, indeed, raspberry.”

“Now, this one,” she said, taking another spoonful and holding it out. “I suspect it is coffee.”

Damian obediently swallowed the ice and nodded. “That’s good. I like that one.”

Cilly tried it too and let out a little sigh of pleasure. “Oh, heavenly. Now, this white one must be coconut.”

They carried on, tasting each bowl, guessing and comparing favourites, arguing over which was best, and little by little Cilly watched Damian unwind.

“Ugh. Parmesan. Cheese should never be an ice!” Cilly exclaimed, pulling a face and taking a large scoop of the coconut ice to chase away the flavour.

“It’s better than the lavender, it was like eating soap,” Damian protested.