Page 44 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

I need a wife who will not need me. A wife who will be indifferent, as I shall be to her.

“Ahem.” Keith cleared his throat and put down his Armagnac, giving Lady Alicia his full attention. “Tell me more about yerself, My Lady. We have been in the same house for some days now, and I do not believe we know much about each other.”

“I am not that interesting, Your Grace.” She pinkened.

“Nonsense. Everyone has a story to tell. So, tell me yers.” He gestured for her to speak.

Her smile didn’t have the vivacity that Celia’s smile had.

Celia rose from the bed. For a change, the world didn’t spin needlessly. Everything was as it should be, and she even had some energy.

“I’m tired of being in this chamber.” She turned and reached for a gown the lady’s maid had left out for her, just in case.

As she pulled a fresh chemise over her body, she stilled, thinking of the way the cloth felt on her skin.

It was nothing like the feel of the Duke of Hardbridge’s hands on her. That feeling had been something else entirely.

“Oh, you did not describe pleasure with the right words,” Celia sighed, pausing as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

Miriam and the painter had described pleasure as something rather easy to take or leave, to savor when you wanted it and discard when you didn’t.

That most certainly hadn’t been her experience that afternoon. Pleasure had been something she was unable to resist. When the Duke had kissed her, she became a woman undone. She had pulled him down into the bed just as much as he had climbed into it.

The memory of those grey eyes as his fingers slid into her for the first time made her shiver with delight.

I need to see him.

Trying not to think about whether she was being weak or bold by wanting to see him, she finished dressing.

She dressed with particular care, pinning her hair up without calling for a maid, for she wanted to do it all herself. Dressed in her favorite Pomona green gown, she left the chamber and hurried downstairs. She clung to the banister rather tightly, a little dizzy.

As she reached the drawing room, she found the door open, and she heard words being recited from inside the room.

She moved closer and gazed upon Violet, who was now reciting a poem, much to the amusement of her husband, who seemed to be doing his best not to laugh.

From the mischievous smile on Violet’s lips, Celia rather wondered if her sister had chosen the overly sweet and exaggerated poem on purpose, just to see her husband snort and hold back his laughter.

Celia took a step forward, her head turning back and forth as she searched out the familiar figure of the Duke of Hardbridge.

There he is.

Her stomach did somersaults at the sight of him. He stood by a drinks table, talking to someone, wearing his usual shirt and waistcoat without a tailcoat. He had opted not for a cravat, but one of those thinner and much more informal ties. The way he adjusted the tie at his throat as he talked reminded her of how she had clung to that same tie that afternoon, pulling him toward her.

Then she saw him smile. It was a gentle smile, rather soft, the kind that he had never given her.

Celia took another small step forward, trying to get a better look at who he was talking to. Then she came into view.

Lady Alicia, dressed in a fashionable pastel blue gown, was something to behold. She was delicately pretty—the kind of prettiness Celia would never be able to achieve—with her golden blonde hair pinned at the back of her head. As she said something demurely, her chin downturned, the Duke of Hardbridge smiled again.

Celia couldn’t take another step into the room.

There was something so alarming about seeing him talking with Lady Alice, wearing that smile, that she couldn’t move a muscle.

Why is he so set on marrying a woman he has little care for?

Even in her room that day, he had said it didn’t matter who he married.

She jerked her head away, embarrassment raging through her as her eyes landed on the others in the room. She saw Violet and Xander sneaking mischievous glances at one another. Eleanor and Grace were sitting close to their husbands, and Diana was sitting so near to her husband that she was in danger of falling in his lap. For a man who did not often show his emotions, Aaron raised Diana’s hand to his lips and kissed it ever so gently.

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