Page 9 of Wicked By Design

Her jaw tightened. “Do not take me for a fool,” she warned. “You remarked I was ill-named, did you not? I am not the least bit silly. You are testing me, punishing me, for which I do not blame you. However, I have made a bargain with you, to make you respectable. If you wish to continue blackening your own character, that is entirely your own affair, but I will not help you do it.”

Damian smiled. For some perverse reason, he was rather pleased with her.

“Fair enough. I shall not bring the demimonde to your door.”

She nodded. “Thank you.” There was a taut silence. “When shall we be married?”

Damian considered this. “Am I correct in supposing you wish for last night’s spectacle to be reframed as an act of passion—I lost control because of my delight in having you accept my hand in marriage?”

Celia nodded. “Yes. I think it best. That way I can gaze adoringly at you and people will believe there is more to you than they realised. It will be a start.”

Damian made a choked sound. “My dear, I do hope there is more to your plan than that, for no one will believe it. They will carry on assuming I despoiled you but that your dowry and connections have induced me to walk to the altar this time.”

She returned a somewhat sardonic smile. “Of course they will, except that in two weeks, a month, a year’s time, I shall still gaze at you adoringly and speak of you with such affection that they will have no option but to believe it.”

An odd sensation went off in Damian’s chest as the words landed. In a year’s time. The notion that she might still look at him with affection by then was preposterous. Of course, she would only act the part, so it was different. It wouldn’t be real, couldn’t be, for no one had ever loved Damian consistently. He wasn’t a lovable sort of person. Women adored him, but that was simply because of his handsome face and form and because he knew how to please them physically. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe it would last and always left before they could expect things he was incapable of giving.

Affection, love, these were dangerous emotions and ones that could destroy you if you let them.

“Well, that is something to look forward to it. Are you certain you have the stomach for it, Celia? Or the stamina come to that?” he asked politely.

She held his gaze. “I am a woman, Damian. I’ll wager I have a stronger stomach and greater fortitude than you do.”

He had to admit, those words spoken so coolly, alongside the steely glint in her eyes and the ramrod-straight spine, were rather impressive. He believed her, but could he really trust her? She had just trapped him into marriage, what else was she capable of? Unease worked its way under his skin, making him wonder just what he was getting into. Well, he’d been complaining of boredom, had he not? His lady wife looked to be a most wonderful diversion from his ever-present ennui. Still, he could not allow her to believe he was the least bit daunted, so he returned a lazily provocative smile.

“Only time will tell, Celia, my dear.”

Her gaze flicked to his mouth and quickly away, a little tinge of colour cresting her cheeks. Damian smiled, well there was always that. He scrutinised her for a moment and she lowered her gaze, studying her fingers.

Damian addressed her, wanting to see that flush again. “You realise we shall be the subject of conversation over breakfast tables in every corner of this town? And every town within five miles of here, at least. I heard every hotel and inn in the region was fully booked with guests for last night’s ball. So, I believe it may be prudent for us to show our faces. A little stroll through the town is probably in order, and perhaps we should go to Rye for a visit too. The more people who remark you gazing adoringly at me, the better, yes?”

Celia looked up, meeting his eyes, and to his regret she appeared perfectly composed.

“An excellent notion. Would you like to go now?”

“There is no time like the present,” he replied easily.

With a nod of agreement, Celia got to her feet, forcing him to rise as well. “If you will excuse me, I shall fetch my bonnet and gloves.”

Damian watched her go, aware of her quick footsteps. He had unsettled her. Excellent. Though, if he were honest, she had done much the same to him.

Well, one thing was clear, having a wife would be far more entertaining than he’d anticipated.

Chapter 2

Heroes and Villains

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 6th September 1816

The Duke of Hawkney looked up from his breakfast and nodded a greeting as his friend, Justin Caldecotte, the Earl of Sheringham—known by most as Sherry—appeared in the breakfast parlour. He had enjoyed himself rather thoroughly at last night’s ball, and Hawkney did not doubt the fellow was feeling a trifle jaded this morning. Hawkney was only surprised to see him this side of noon. He had risen late himself, for no one had been to bed before the early hours, what with all the excitement.

Sherry gazed down at the full plate Hawkney was tucking into and made a low moaning sound.

“Al, you have no respect for my sensibilities.”

“No,” Hawkney replied, cutting into a fat sausage with relish. “Not a one.”

“Howard, bring me—”