Page 76 of Unraveled By the Duke
Celia gave it to him, unfolding it to its full length and holding it against him. She felt the water on his body being absorbed into the flat weave of the fabric. He looked into her eyes as she moved it down his body.
“I am stubborn,” she said, “and I have been selfish in the past. Pursuing my wishes and ambitions with no thought to the consequences. I think that must end before anyone else is hurt.”
She reached his navel, feeling the fabric tent as it reached his manhood. She moved around it, smoothing it over his hips and thighs, kneeling as she did so.
His breathing quickened.
“I thought there would be no more touching,” he said.
“I said no more touching or kissing me. Anywhere. You are not doing so.”
“So, you may touch me, but I may not touch you. Can you bear that?”
Celia laughed, rising and rubbing the linen over his wet mane. “You flatter yourself, Alexander. Do you believe that you are irresistible?”
He pursed his lips. “I follow the evidence my eyes see.”
“Eyes can be deceived.”
“Touch is often a more reliable sense. Either something is solid or it is not.”
Alexander moved closer to her, his hands settling on her waist. She briefly felt the press of him against her loins and quickly stepped away.
It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. Moving away from his embrace, from his ardor, felt unnatural. Every fiber of her being resisted, as though she were commanding herself to remove her own skin.
Released from her hands, the linen fell to the floor. Celia smiled, taking in the fullness of his nudity.
“But not solid enough. I would have the touch and the knowledge that it is echoed in here.”
She touched her hands to her heart.
“Would you be ready to leave for Pall Mall in an hour?” she asked.
Alexander nodded wordlessly, picking up the linen and wrapping it around his waist.
Celia left the room, trying to ignore the ache in her loins.
CHAPTER 24
The house on Pall Mall was a handsome edifice with a white London stucco facade. Wide sash windows framed the door, which stood under a stone portico. Through those windows, and those of the upper floors, ladies and gentlemen could be seen moving slowly among the paintings.
Alexander offered his hand after he had alighted from the carriage, and Celia smiled as she accepted it. Gentlemen passing by lifted their hats, and both Celia and Alexander acknowledged each greeting politely.
“I think our charade is becoming more firmly cemented,” Celia murmured.
“That is how things appear,” Alexander replied. “I should say that we look like a happily married couple.”
“There may be something in that,” Celia said.
Alexander looked at her quizzically, but she hid behind the courteous smile she put on for the public.
They entered the building. The paintings from the collection hung on the walls, and the house itself seemed unchanged from when it had been the private residence of Mr. Angerstein.
“It is as though someone has opened their home to the public,” Celia remarked, taking in the old masters all around.
“That is precisely what has happened, though the owner is no longer with us,” came a feminine voice from the crowd filling the room.
The Dowager Duchess of Cheverton emerged, smiling politely at Celia and warmly at her stepson.
