Page 26 of Unraveled By the Duke
In her heart, she wanted it to be the second, wanted the flushed cheeks and parted lips to be expressions of flaming passion. Wanted his hands on her, his lips on hers. Wanted his body pressing her back into the seat, hard and insistent. She knew her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes bright, and her bosom heaving.
Lord, let him see it as anger!
The carriage lurched to a halt, and Alexander was propelled onto her lap. By pure instinct, she gripped his shoulders and the back of his head. Only when he looked up moments later did she see how intimate their position was. His face had been pressed to her womanhood, covered by her skirt and petticoats. It would have been the work of moments to lift both and press his mouth to her most intimate area.
The idea made her heart race and her chest heave. He sat back, and she lifted her hands with a squeak of embarrassment.
Alexander looked startled by the sudden jolt.
“What are you playing at, man!” he roared to the driver, his eyes never leaving her.
He pushed himself back into his seat as the driver said, “The horse in front of us got free of its harness, Your Grace. The owner was trying to get it back under control. Had to stop to avoid it.”
“Next time, warn us in advance!” Alexander snapped.
“Did that very thing, Your Grace, as soon as I saw the obstruction,” came the reply.
“Don’t talk back to me, man!” Alexander bellowed.
Celia had not heard the driver’s warning, so engrossed had she been arguing with Alexander.
Despite his irritation, Alexander was obviously thinking the same thing. They watched each other warily.
The carriage resumed its journey, and Alexander rose to sit next to Celia instead of opposite, where he might be cast into her lap again if the carriage met an obstruction.
She could feel the warmth of his body next to her. His cologne was something earthy and spicy. It made the butterflies in her stomach flutter; it was so masculine.
If I am to be trapped in a loveless marriage of convenience, then I must destroy the part of myself that craves his touch—or any touch, for that matter.
They arrived at Finsbury House in silence. At some point during the jostling of the carriage, Alexander had ended up pressed against Celia, his arm and shoulder flush against hers. She had not moved, and neither had he, to break this contact. When the carriage stopped, Celia felt a pang of regret.
Alexander opened the carriage door and alighted, turning to offer her his hand. She refused it, stepping down unaided, looking around her at the house that was to be her home, for a while, anyway.
It was as dark as she remembered, a relic of the sixteenth century or even older, showing its age. It had the look of a place alien to warmth or light.
The driver was clambering to the roof of the carriage and untying Celia’s luggage. No servants came out of the house to greet them or help.
“Come, I will show you to your rooms,” Alexander said briskly, striding towards the house.
Was Lavinia treated like this? Did he ever show her warmth? Did he touch and kiss her?
The very idea sent a bolt of envy through Celia. She tried to tell herself that she could not be envious of any woman who had been betrothed to Alexander, but it did not help. She wanted those things from him.
“I can find my way,” she said as she strode past Alexander towards the stairs. “I have been here for a few days now.”
She climbed up the steps, nodding and smiling at Peggy Swinton, who had emerged from the door to the servants’ quarters.
“I shall take tea in my rooms, please, Peggy,” she said.
Peggy glanced at Alexander, who nodded curtly, and then disappeared through the door.
Celia hurried upwards, hearing Alexander following her. She did not stop or look back as she reached the second floor, walked along a dark, dusty hallway, and opened the last door on the left.
There was a large portrait facing the door of a woman in a flowing white dress and dark hair. She looked beautiful and sorrowful. As she had done every time she had passed it, Celia stopped.
“My great-great-grandmother,” Alexander revealed, catching up to her.
Celia jumped, lost in thought. “She was very beautiful, but the artist has captured a melancholy about her that is unusual,” she noted.
