Page 74 of Wicked By Design

The words were a little distant, overly formal, but Cilly just nodded, smiling at him. “I am, Damian, thank you.”

There was a flurry of rather awkward activity as everyone wished them goodbye, and then the carriage door closed, and they were alone for the first time all day.

Cilly let out a breath. She glanced at Damian, whose expression was stoic, like one facing an execution.

“Well, that went well, I think. Reverend Honeywell’s service was lovely, wasn’t it? Very personal.”

“It went very well, yes,” Damian agreed, though she did not believe he was attending her. His thoughts were elsewhere, and she had a fairly good notion where.

“I am all eagerness to see our rooms at The Mermaid. I have heard how elegant and comfortable they are. If they are as splendid as the ices, I shall never wish to leave.”

He frowned, apparently forcing his mind back to the conversation. “Ices? Oh, yes, I ordered some for you. I had forgotten that. Hopefully, they have not.”

Cilly blinked. “You ordered ices? For me? For tonight?”

He shrugged and looked out of the window. “Champagne and ices, yes. I thought you… well, I did not wish for every aspect of your wedding night to be a—”

“If you say disappointment, I shall strike you.”

Damian’s head whipped around and he stared at her in surprise before letting out a soft laugh. “Gideon told me you’ve a spine of steel. Not that I needed telling, it was obvious from the start.”

Cilly put up her chin. “Quite so. That being the case, I would prefer it if you did not face our wedding night with the air of a man about to climb the steps of the scaffold. I am not vain, Damian, but a woman has her pride, and when her new husband regards the wedding night in the same light as having a tooth pulled—”

“Celia!” Damian reached over and grasped her hand, clasping it between his. “Dammit, Celia, you know very well that’s not the problem.”

She let out a sigh and squeezed his hand in return. “Yes, I know, and I understand your misgivings. If you do not wish to bed me, I shall not weep and enact a Cheltenham tragedy, I promise you. However, must you look so wretched and go talking about disappointing me? We shall find a way forward together, however that may be, but let me warn you now, Damian, if you have the idiocy to run away, believe that I will hunt you down.”

She glared at him, rather relieved when the pallid, tense look eased from his expression and his mouth twitched into a smile.

“Into the very jaws of hell, hmmm?”

“If necessary,” she said, putting up her chin. “Now, help me out of this carriage. I want my champagne and ices, please.”

With a soft laugh, he stepped down and held out his hand to her, pressing a kiss to her fingers as she descended the steps.

Their eyes met and Cilly smiled. Perhaps their marriage would not be entirely conventional, they were both stubborn, and there was much in their future that might be challenging, but one way or another, they would find a way.

Chapter 17

Champagne, Ices, and a Home by the Sea

The Mermaid, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 21st September 1816

“Well, it’s a lovely place, I’ll give him that, and the flowers are a nice touch,” Nichols said, regarding the little posies of sweet peas whose delicate perfume filled the room.

Cilly nodded, still unable to speak about the flowers without crying. Oh, the wretched man was going to turn her into a blithering idiot who cried at the drop of a hat if he kept this up.

Still, she had a weapon or two in her own arsenal, she thought with a smile as Nichols lifted a sheer piece of French wickedness from her trousseau. It was an item Cilly had bought on her own account from Mme Auguste and was rather pleased about.

“It’s hardly worth putting it on,” Nichols said with a tsk of disapproval. “You’ll catch your death.”

“Don’t be silly,” Cilly said, though her heart skipped erratically as she considered the picture she would make wearing it. Very little was left to the imagination.

Half an hour later and the ‘piece of French nonsense,’ as Nichols insisted referring to it, clung to her every curve. Her long hair had been brushed out and hung down her back in a golden wave, and the dreadfully expensive soap she had bought had left a subtle but lingering perfume upon her skin.

Nichols had departed, though not before giving Cilly some rather frank advice about what she might expect on her wedding night. Cilly was uncertain if it had been reassuring or not. From the murmur of voices in the next room, she knew that the champagne and ices Damian had ordered had arrived, and so she waited until she heard the door to the corridor close.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her hand over the doorknob and turned, stepping into the room.