Page 13 of Wicked By Design

His grim expression did not encourage her to believe this. She wondered just what had made it so hellish. Not just the lack of light, that much was clear, for what little boy would care about such a thing if his home was filled with love and affection? Hetty had been remarkably close lipped about Gideon’s past, she realised now, wondering why that might be when her sister usually shared every detail with her.

“I am sorry you were unhappy there,” she said carefully.

He ignored the comment, but a sudden thrum of tension communicated itself to her through his arm and she looked around. They had reached the promenade by the seafront, and a splendid carriage had drawn up.

“Devil take it,” he muttered under his breath.

“What—?” Cilly began, but the question died as a fantastically fashionable woman made her way out of the hotel, heading for the carriage.

The Countess of Dunmere was an elegant woman on the shady side of forty, and notorious for being one of the most malicious gossips of the ton. She had once been considered a beauty, and might have been lovely still, if not for her expression. Nothing good had ever come from that face, Cilly thought a touch desperately, as she noted the calculating gleam in the woman’s eyes upon seeing her.

Cilly had always disliked the vicious creature and avoided her and her cutting remarks as often as possible. As a duke’s daughter she ranked high among the ton and, with her skills for diplomacy, she had not found it so terribly difficult to keep a distance from those people with whom she did not wish to spend time. She feared she had no patience left for diplomacy, however. She had burned it along with her last shred of respectability on the terrace last night before a captive audience.

Cilly glanced at Damian’s face and knew if she did not intervene, he would say or do something appalling and only cement the idea that he was irredeemably wicked and had indeed ruined her. It would be far better if they believed Cilly had found a kindred spirit.

“Oh, my dear,” the countess said, dripping condescension and false concern. “I was so, so very sorry for you last night. Such an unpleasant and tawdry scene. But I am glad to see you putting such a brave face on it despite the depths of your shame. Poor Crenshaw will be distraught when he hears his lovely fiancée was so publicly ruined. I’m actually on my way there now to tell him, for we are quite close neighbours.”

“I never doubted you would be the first to bring comfort to the poor, old man,” Cilly replied with a sweet smile, for the woman always delighted in being the first to spread whatever poisonous on-dit was doing the rounds.

The countess’ smile vied with Cilly’s, becoming wider, rather like a crocodile at the moment before its jaws snapped. “Well, I try my best to be a good neighbour.”

Cilly nodded gravely. “I know he will be most grateful at the speed with which you have rushed home to pass on the news. They say ignorance is bliss, but I doubt he will feel the same way after all.”

The countess chuckled. “Oh, I do my poor best to be a good friend. I expect you will discover just how many of those you have now, my dear, as people are so cruel. So many of the best families will drop a girl at the first sign of scandal. Such a shame,” she crooned, making no bones about the delight she took in Cilly’s downfall.

“Do you think so?” Cilly asked with apparent surprise. “For my part I would far rather not have a friend who is so shallow and faithless as to abandon me over a mere kiss, but I suppose our notions of honour and friendship are rather different.”

The countess’ smile became brittle and Cilly knew she would go in for the kill now, as the wretched woman could not rattle her.

“Well, I suppose we shall see little of you anymore. You know, Dunmere and I had hoped to have you and Crenshaw come to stay this Christmas. Our little festive weekends are so exclusive everyone fights for an invitation, but we only ask the best people to celebrate with us.”

Cilly fought the anger and humiliation burning beneath her skin, and the startling desire to slap the woman’s smug face. She had never felt tempted to commit violence before, but the pleasure the countess took in belittling her made Cilly furious. How many other young women had been skewered by that sharp tongue and been unable to defend themselves? Well, Cilly had endured quite enough from this dreadful woman, and besides which she was horribly aware that Damian was vibrating with fury beside her. At any moment he was going to say something utterly appalling. Far better she be the one to draw the woman’s venom.

“Oh, that’s a blessing, then,” Cilly exclaimed, letting out a breath of relief. She turned to Damian and laid her free hand upon his arm in a familiar, affectionate gesture, though she knew very well that her smile was not quite nice. “Did you hear, darling? I won’t have to go to the Dunmeres’ tedious Christmas house party after all. Thank you so much. I just knew marrying you would be far more entertaining than wedding the Earl of Crenshaw.”

“My darling Celia, you are most welcome,” Damian replied coolly, a dangerous glitter sparkling in his eyes. “If you’ll excuse us, my lady, we are having a little private conversation about our futures. Engaged people are tedious, I’m afraid. Good day to you.”

They walked away, leaving the countess with her mouth open.

Cilly held her breath and managed to walk down the stairs to the beach before she completely lost her composure. She threw back her head and laughed.

Damian turned to stare at her in astonishment, which only made matters worse.

Cilly released her hold on his arm, clutching at her middle, fighting for breath as tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh! Oh, d-did you see her face…?” she chortled, and then went off into whoops again.

Damian’s cynical mouth tilted in a crooked grin, and he regarded her with amusement.

“You’ve never said anything rude or cutting in your life before, have you?”

Cilly gasped and shook her head. “No. I have always been the perfect lady, no matter how tempted I’ve been. But I’m not a lady now, am I? So why must I play by their rules any longer? The polite world has deemed me ruined, so I believe I shall be myself from now on, and they can take it or leave it.”

She met his eyes, knowing she was not just speaking of the polite world. Cilly had no desire to go about insulting people—she did not wish to turn into a woman as hard and unpleasant as the Countess of Dunmere—but neither did she see why she ought to tolerate them any longer.

Damian shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or the other. Bending, he picked up a pebble and walked towards the water. “You are an adult and ought to voice your own opinions as you see fit, but you’re still a lady. Don’t let anyone disabuse you of that notion,” he said before striding down the beach and flinging the pebble into the water. Cilly watched, her heart giving an erratic thud as the little stone skipped the waves, once, twice, three times before finally disappearing.

She smiled, a tentative flicker of hope sparking to life at his words. That had been a kind thing to say. Cilly followed him down the beach, watching curiously as he reached for another pebble. She laughed as this one skipped five times before it sank.

“Oh, how clever,” she said in delight.