Page 10 of Unraveled By the Duke
“I was afraid, though. That is why I acted the way I did,” she added defiantly.
“I accept your apology, Lady Celia. A misunderstanding, clearly.”
Celia raised an eyebrow. “No reciprocity? You barged in on a woman in her shift. No apology for that?”
The fires in her had been banked, but now they roared forth once more. Alexander found himself smiling, aroused, and intrigued by those flames in equal measure.
“I will not apologize for something I could not have anticipated happening. I did nothing wrong,”
Celia raised her eyes heavenward as though in exasperation and turned away. Then, she cried out, lifting her foot as though she had stepped on something sharp.
Alexander moved instinctively to support her as she staggered. When his hand touched her waist, she lashed out, knocking the wind out of him with a sharp elbow. He was caught off balance as she leaned into him, still on one foot. He stumbled backward, hit the closed door, and fell to the floor, Celia atop him. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her.
Her perfume was like brandy, infusing itself into his brain, loosening his inhibitions and inflaming his desire. Her body was soft and pliant above him, tantalizingly so.
“Are you hurt?” he gasped, winded by the fall.
Suddenly, the fight seemed to drain out of her. She went limp in his arms, her head resting on his chest. From the tremors in her shoulders, he could not tell if she was laughing or crying.
“The vase has had its revenge,” she said finally.
When she lifted her head, Alexander saw that she had been laughing, but there were tears in her eyes. Hysteria lay close to the surface.
He made to gently separate himself from her, but she clutched at him with both arms.
In the light cast by the low fire and the lone lamp, he could now see the tears rolling down her cheeks. But she was still beautiful. Still astonishingly so.
“I am not him—whoever it is you fear. There is only me, and I will die before hurting a woman,” Alexander said gravely.
Her face was inches from his. Her breasts were squished against his iron-hard chest. Her loins ground against his stiff manhood. She must feel it.
He could not hide the ardor that her body had awakened in his. At that moment, he did not want to.
He was lost in her eyes. The room faded from his consciousness. The house. The ball and his betrothed. His mind became primitive, losing its sense of propriety and custom, caring only for sensation and base urges.
He did not know who initiated the kiss, only that her lips were suddenly pressed hard against his.
He tasted the salt of her tears and the sweetness of wine from her mouth. She clutched at him, her fingers digging into his back through the fabric of his shirt. She moaned against his mouth, kissing him with inexperienced passion.
There was nothing of seduction or artifice about her. She had submitted to the same lust that was driving him.
The sound of the door opening did not register, but Lavinia’s scandalized voice did.
“Your Grace! How could you?!”
She turned on her heel and ran out of sight, sobbing loudly. A man and a woman appeared then. The Viscount Darnleigh had a smile on his face. Alexander did not immediately recognize the woman who stood beside him.
“Celia!” she exclaimed, sounding utterly scandalized.
“Mother!” Celia gasped.
Then, the woman looked at Alexander, and her lips pressed together until they were white.
“Unhand my daughter, Your Grace. You are lucky that my husband is not here to see this. Duke or not, he would likely demand satisfaction!”
CHAPTER 4
Celia walked alongside her mother through the grounds of Banfield House. The trees shielded them from the rest of London and the house itself.
