Page 18 of Unraveled By the Duke
“Not Banfield?” Celia asked.
“Your father has communicated that he is otherwise engaged for the rest of the week and will not see me at his home. He has kindly offered to spare me some time this morning at Vauxhall,” Alexander replied coldly. “I suppose it gives us a chance to be seen publicly, which will begin to quell the gossip.”
“He is angry. At both of us. But he sees the sense in what you are proposing. I presume you have broached the subject with him?” Celia asked.
“By letter, yes. What is that perfume? It is intensely irritating.” Alexander scrunched up his face.
Celia patted her neck, where she had clearly dabbed the perfume. “A present from my mother. I have little of it left, so I will not inflict it on you again. If we are to present ourselves as a couple, you had better not act like a bear with a sore head.”
Alexander irritably pulled the cord that allowed the window pane to drop, letting air flow more freely into the carriage. In truth, he found her perfume alluring and quite intoxicating, but he was trying hard to resist her feminine charms.
“I do not like being trapped or pushed into a situation,” he grumbled.
“Nor do I. But we are where we are, and must make the best of it. Is that not so?”
“If you were meeker and spoke when you are spoken to, it would be easier,” Alexander said cruelly.
“Alas, meekness has never been one of my virtues,” Celia drawled, folding her arms and gazing out of the window at the increasing urban clutter of London.
Alexander glanced at her, but his eyes eventually lingered. Her profile reflected nobility and strength. Her neck was swan-like and fragile, her breasts round and full. He looked away when his gaze reached her hips.
Her thighs and hips felt exactly as they should. The kind of hips made for childbearing, and thighs that are shapely and feminine.
He began counting in his head the debts and the interest on those debts against his assets and the assets he would acquire once they were wed. It focused his mind, removing the distraction of the beautiful, infuriating, challenging, fierce woman he had become involved with.
The classical columns of Vauxhall Gardens’ entrance were wrapped in climbing flowers and gleamed white in the unadulterated sunshine. The grass framing the wide boulevards was vibrant and bedecked with strolling lords and ladies. In some cases, they sat on blankets or small stools.
The air was heavy with flirtation and pollen, the low buzz of conversation mingling with the drunken buzz of bees. As Alexander disembarked, he turned and offered his hand to Celia. She took it and then his arm when proffered.
“Let us find your parents, shall we?” he said with a smile.
“Indeed. And seem to at least be enjoying the gardens as much as everyone else,” Celia replied with a bright, happy grin.
They moved down a broad boulevard lined with trees and elaborate oriental pagodas. Dozens of ladies, gentlemen, and commoners moved around them like shoals of brightly colored fish.
Celia laughed delicately as though responding to his jokes, and she smiled and said good morning to all who caught her eye. Alexander had to admit he was impressed with her performance and effort.
It is in her interests, after all. I will not allow a quick tumble to color my views, though. A slender, beautiful body will not sway me.
“Good morning to you, and what a handsome couple you make!” greeted an elderly gentleman while doffing his hat.
“Thank you for the compliment, Sir,” Celia replied, smiling prettily. “And it is a fine morning to be out of doors and making new friends, is it not?”
“Indeed. What a marvelous notion. I am Sir Edmund Knightley, by the way.”
“Lady Celia Frid, and this is my intended, His Grace the Duke of Cheverton. I say that is a marvelous buttonhole, Sir Edmund.”
Sir Edmund held up his lapel, looking sheepish. “I picked it from a flower bed over there. Do not tell anyone, or else the authorities will ban me—this is quite my favorite walk in London.”
There was a mischievous glint in the old man’s eyes as he spoke. Alexander found himself warming up to him and saw a natural talent in Celia for putting people at ease.
A useful skill for a manipulator. Possibly.
That thought soured the good feeling that had begun to spread through him.
They took their leave of Sir Edmund and walked on. Celia was as bright as the sunshine, leaving smiles in her wake. Alexander, by contrast, felt like a storm cloud.
“Clearly, the rumors have not yet reached this side of the river,” he commented. “No one you have introduced yourself to seemed perturbed.”
