Page 74 of Unraveled By the Duke
“Disapproved of such wastage,” Alexander said finally.
“Oh, that does not seem an opinion to keep secret.”
“I do not. If I did, I would not have said it.”
“But you almost didn’t. You stopped speaking.”
They were winding their way down the hill now, and as though to silence her, Alexander dug in his heels, spurring the horse into a canter which caused Celia to bounce in the saddle. She yelped and then imitated Alexander by clamping her mouth shut, as she saw his smile.
Keep your secrets, then, Cheverton! I will not give you the satisfaction of asking. Particularly if it will just be further ammunition for you to snap at me.
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
Celia noticed that Alexander’s grip on her tightened as the pace of the horse increased. She did not mind, allowing herself to be pressed against his body. For a blessed while, she let herself be transported into a daydream in which they were happily married, riding back from a morning of unbridled passion in the hay. Wanton, reckless, but driven by the purest of motives. The love between a man and his wife.
By the time they were within the shadow of Finsbury House’s walls, Celia was residing within a deeper shadow. The fantasy was not enough. It was ephemeral and served only as a reminder of what she could not have.
What is the matter with me? I have never sought true love or romance. Never craved a husband. Why do I feel this for a man who has treated me so harshly? Who has made it clear that our marriage is a transaction? I am the world’s biggest fool!
Entering the house with Alexander at her shoulder, they were greeted by Peggy, who looked shocked by the sight of them. Celia sent her for hot water and the butler, Mr. Samuels.
A man with severely combed, lacquered black hair and ferocious eyebrows, Samuels was more than up to the task of supporting his master to his bedchamber.
An hour later, Celia had bathed and changed. She sat for a while in her room, looking out the window at the decrepit walls and grounds of Finsbury. It was crying out for love and attention. She felt an affinity for it, in her mind giving the old place a character.
“I wish I could be here longer to restore you to your former glory,” she said, running a hand over the stone window frame.
Then, she shook herself and stood up—the tenth time in as many minutes. Every other time she had sat down again, clasping her hands in her lap, waiting, though she did not know for what. This time, she strode across the room, determined to take some action that would distract her from her romantic delusions.
Her determination took her, without allowing her time to comprehend or understand her reasoning, to Alexander’s rooms.
“I told you I can manage. Get out!” was the greeting as she opened the door.
Samuels was retreating, followed by a muddy boot which he promptly scooped up from the floor and held it by the cut. The look on his face spoke of distaste for the boot’s condition.
After he had left, Celia closed the door behind her.
She heard Alexander sigh in exasperation. “Save me from servants who cannot understand my needs!”
“Or read your mind,” she drawled.
She approached the door to his bedroom and heard a splash, as if someone had just turned in a tub full of water.
“Celia? What are you doing there?” Alexander asked.
“I wanted to discuss our trip to the National Gallery. I thought you would have bathed by now.”
She entered the room. A folding screen split the room in two. Steam rose from behind it.
Celia stopped at the screen. She caught tantalizing glimpses of Alexander through the joins between the screens.
“It took me longer to undress because of my bloody ankle. And Samuels took an age to bandage it.”
“He is not a physician.”
“No, he was my valet at Cheverton and is now the butler at Finsbury House. I think he is disappointed with the promotion. A promotion in rank but a demotion in the house in which he now serves.”
“It need not be. I have often thought of what could be done with the place.”
