Page 55 of Wicked By Design

He waved an impatient hand as if he couldn’t care less. “Yes, fine. If it pleases you.”

The shopkeeper beamed and hurried around the counter, but the idea of the fellow pinning it on Celia’s coat for her put Damian so out of temper that he snatched it from the fellow.

“I’ll do that,” he muttered.

Celia kept perfectly still, biting her lip as he pinned it to her spencer. Sliding his hand beneath the collar, the warmth of her body enveloped his fingers, making him wish they were alone and he could strip every layer from her to touch the source of that heat. Forcing the errant thought away, he concentrated on the task, his knuckles brushing lightly against her breast. Even through the layers of undergarments and gown, the hectic thudding of her heart pounded against them. It was a little reassuring to know it wasn’t just him getting in such a dither over nothing. Though she was a virgin, he most certainly was not and had no business reacting like such a clodpole.

Her exquisitely tailored coat was dark green velvet, and the rich colour set off the golden topaz to perfection. Damian stood back, experiencing a strangely proprietary thrill of delight at seeing her wear something he had given her. He told himself not to be such a blasted idiot and turned, arranged the payment with the shopkeeper, and strode to the door.

Celia walked out as he held it open for her, smiling and gazing down at the brooch pinned to her breast with obvious delight.

She did not stop grinning all the way back to the carriage. He handed her in and the carriage rocked into motion. They were several miles down the road when his patience frayed. She was still beaming like a nitwit and gazing at the brooch like he’d gifted her the crown jewels.

“For heaven’s sake, Celia. You’re the daughter of a duke, for the love of God. There’s really no need to get so worked up over a trumpery bit of nothing like that. When we are married, I shall buy you a proper parure set, diamonds perhaps, or—”

“Nothing will ever be better than this,” she said smugly, covering the brooch protectively as if he’d threatened to rip it off her.

Damian shook his head and turned to glower out of the window.

“Admit it, you are only cross because you cannot pretend you are a wicked, heartless devil any longer. I know the truth. As I suspected right from the start, you are a good man, Damian, but if it makes you feel better, I shan’t tell a soul.”

Damian harrumphed and crossed his arms, saying nothing. But her words slid under his skin, insinuating themselves into all the dark corners of his soul and lighting them up despite his protests.

Chapter 12

White Horses or Blue Water

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 18thSeptember 1816

Damian nodded at Howard, who greeted him with a smile as he handed over his hat and gloves.

Eyeing the fellow suspiciously, Damian wondered when he had stopped being a pariah and why.

“Lady Cecilia is in the—”

“No, she isn’t,” Celia called, hurrying down the stairs towards him.

Damian glanced up. She wore a dress of sunshine yellow with a deeper gold spencer and a charming bonnet trimmed with gold ribbons. The sight of her lifted his heart, as if she were the cure for all that ailed him. If only.

The morning was a bright one, as if summer had blessed them with one last hurrah before it left for good, and to Damian she appeared to be the embodiment of the day. The brooch he had bought her sat at the base of her throat amongst a little froth of lace. His heart gave an erratic thump, and he told the stupid thing to pack it in and stop behaving like an idiot.

She was pulling on her gloves as she hurried towards him and, before he could speak, she grasped his arm and turned him back towards the door. Howard thrust his hat and gloves at him and Damian grabbed them before he was propelled outside.

“Well, good day to you too, Celia, are we going somewhere?”

“Yes, we have an urgent appointment to be somewhere,” she said, practically marching him down the driveway.

“Where and with whom?” he demanded, recalling no such appointment.

“I don’t know nor care,” she shot back, letting out a breath of relief. “Oh, thank heavens. I feared you might not appear for hours yet and wondered what on earth I should do.”

“Heavens, have you missed me so much?” he asked with a smirk, though he had no notion what she was going on about.

“Yes, actually, but that aside, it was more that I feared murdering my grandmother, or that she might murder my father, or that I might have done with it and thrown myself out of the window.”

“Ah,” he said, comprehension dawning as he fought down delight at her admission of having missed him. “Your father is still trying to blackmail you.”

“No,” she replied, glancing up and gifting him with a mischievous smile that did terrible things to his peace of mind. “He’s given up on that since this morning. I’ve convinced him I’m wildly in love with you and shall cause the worst scenes he’s ever witnessed in his life before if he makes a fuss. Grandmama promised to help me too, which was rather marvellous. He’s packing as we speak, having washed his hands of me.”