Page 17 of Unraveled By the Duke
“And you are the most wicked temptress. I know what you are trying to do,” Alexander shot back.
Celia huffed. “And what is that? What exactly?—”
His mouth found hers, muffling her reply and rendering it a moan. His hands roamed down her back to squeeze her round, soft buttocks. Her feet were still off the ground, her body suspended by his arms and his loins. As he allowed his hands to find her breasts, she slid down the tree, still held in his arms until she sat on the ground and he kneeled before her.
Celia pulled back and, for a moment, stared down at him. With the ancient tree behind her, she could have been some pagan earth goddess.
The idea aroused him intensely, and he surged up against her, fighting her with kisses and caresses to be higher, to be dominant. She melted against him, falling into his embrace, cradled against his chest.
“I know you’re in there, you wicked pair! For shame! God will strike you down where you stand!” came a strident voice behind the screen of willow branches.
Celia’s eyes went wide, as did her mouth. Alexander, too, came to his senses abruptly, realizing the priest he had seen coming out of the church had seen them and guessed their intentions. He stood up, holding out his hand for Celia.
“Come on. I have no desire to be lectured on morality and no appetite for further scandal. Truce?”
Celia let him pull her to her feet, nodding vigorously. “I think I went mad,” she whispered.
“That gate over there will take us onto Hampstead High Road, and we will hire a carriage at the Southampton Arms to take us the rest of the way.”
He led her at a trot out of the cover of the willow and towards the gate. As soon as they were seen, the priest, carrying a stout cudgel, began shaking his fist at them.
“Where are we going?” Celia asked.
“I have a property in Finsbury Fields which I have been in the process of selling. You will stay there until we are married. I do not wish to introduce you to my family until then. I wish them to meet you as my bride. Finsbury House is empty, so you will not be disturbed.”
CHAPTER 6
Alexander stood in the hall of Finsbury House, waiting impatiently. He looked around the dusty room critically.
Pale rectangles marked where paintings had hung before being sold. Empty pedestals had held sculptures, which were also sold to try and pay off his father’s endless debts. A cook and a maid had been transferred from Cheverton to make the house somewhat livable, but he knew there was a chill to the air that came from long disuse.
I must harden my heart against pity. I cannot help but think that I have been manipulated. She used a kiss to run away from me. Her family resisted me and couldn’t toss her into my keeping fast enough. I cannot help but think of what Cornelius Frid stands to gain socially from a connection to a duke. I must protect myself and my family, and view her as a potential adversary until I know for certain. That extends to her family, too.
There was no doubt in Alexander’s mind that Cornelius would readily agree to his daughter’s marriage. After all, that had been the plan all along. He would put up a show of resistance and then reluctantly agree. That would be confirmation of the conspiracy, in Alexander’s mind.
I must simply hope that Celia’s dowry will be as generous as Lavinia’s would have been. Otherwise, all will be lost.
A creak on the stairs drew his attention, and he turned, expecting to see his betrothed descending. But it was simply Peggy, the gray-haired and sour-faced maid he had assigned to Celia. She curtsied after reaching the bottom of the stairs, and Alexander acknowledged her with a nod and a smile.
Good old Peggy. I remember her sneaking me biscuits under the cook’s nose when I was a boy. Looks like a battle-axe but with a heart of gold.
He looked away, moving to a cracked window and staring out across peaceful fields towards Finsbury Village, London rising beyond it, a dark and smoky mass. His mind returned to the sylvan haven of the willow tree in the St James’ churchyard. Of the feel and taste of Celia’s body. If ever there was a place to indulge in the worship of each other’s bodies, then surely consecrated ground was it.
Alexander smiled at his casual blasphemy. The illusion of the careless rake would become reality if he voiced such thoughts. So caught up was he in his reverie that he did not hear the creak on the staircase a second time.
“I am ready,” Celia announced.
Alexander spun around.
She stood at the foot of the stairs, wearing a dress lighter in color than yesterday. It was pale blue and suited her complexion and coloring. Her hair was pinned atop her head, leaving her graceful neck bare. Alexander’s eyes moved to the pale, delicate skin there, wanting to gently put his lips on it and feel her pulse. It looked so soft and perfect that the urge to touch her was almost overwhelming.
“Then let us be away,” he said, turning without offering his arm.
Be strong. Remember who she is and what she is about.
His sole remaining carriage awaited them. The footman handed Celia inside, and Alexander followed.
“Vauxhall Gardens, please, Davies,” Alexander ordered.
