Chapter 3

Three

C elia knew who the letter was from before she opened it, and her heart delighted with the knowledge. She unfolded the parchment with all the joy of a child on Christmastide, then read his words.

Meet me in the conservatory.

JC

Celia pressed the note to her breasts. She could scarcely believe Lord Crawford was in her home. Even more unfathomable, he wished to court her. There had been many times since she left his estate that she'd hoped for this very thing.

Though she'd never dared to believe it could happen. He had been adamant about avoiding marriage, and she had been adamant about settling for nothing less. When she departed his home, she did so with great regret and sorrow—as well as a healthy dose of anger toward the scoundrel. Celia had been certain they had no future. She'd been equally certain that she would never see him again.

Their passionate encounter had ended with a declaration that nothing more would ever happen between them. She would not squander her virtue and he would not relinquish his bachelor status. They had gone from passionate caresses and searing kisses to angry words and insults.

Yet, here he was, writing her notes and kissing her without attempting to bed her. Could he truly wish to marry her? Or was it all a design to get under her skirts? She blew out a deep breath, then dropped the letter into her sliver trinket box and closed the lid. There was but one way to discover his true intentions.

She had to let him court her. Had to allow him a chance to prove his intentions. She only prayed that her heart could handle breaking yet again if he proved to be the scoundrel of the past rather than the honorable man he was now presenting to her.

But did she not owe it to herself to find out?

Celia took a moment to pinch her cheeks and smooth her coiffure, then quit her bedchamber. Her pulse thrummed, and her hands shook as she traversed the corridors leading to the conservatory. She fretted about his sincerity and turned back more than once before reaching the conservatory. Ultimately, she pressed onward as if pulled by an invisible thread.

Jasper was here. He had come for her.

All of her nerves dissipated when she caught sight of him standing outside of the conservatory door, waiting for her. Lord, he was handsome, and that grin—it curled her toes.

Celia watched Jasper's expression as he led her into the conservatory. There was a joy about him, much like the wonder that danced in a child's eyes when they discovered something new. Could it be that he had discovered love?

Certainly not , she scolded herself. They scarcely knew each other. But perhaps he liked her enough to consider the idea. Indeed, he must if he intended to marry her. She fanned herself, the silk ribbons of her hand-painted fan dancing from the efforts.

The conservatory was one of her favorite places. Celia loved the colors and smells of the many plants and flowers. She and Julia tended to some of the plants grown within the room. Many of the vases in the house held flowers they had tended. With Charles's consent, they had even installed a fountain and benches next to the stream that cut across the conservatory.

She and Julia passed many an afternoon sitting there as they trimmed plants or removed thorns from roses. Sometimes they simply sat enjoying the scents and sounds of the conservatory. They recently had an evergreen tree brought in and potted near the stream. Much to her brother's amusement, they already decorated it for Christmastide.

Charles had teased them mercifully, saying it was far too early to do such a thing, but she and Julia cared not. They did it anyway. Julia defended them by pointing out that Christmastide was but a few of weeks off.

Celia turned a speculative gaze on Lord Crawford as the tree came into view. "Does your family decorate trees for the holiday?"

"I see no reason to decorate at all," he answered.

"How unfortunate," she said, giving his arm a slight squeeze. "How does one celebrate Christmastide without decorating?"

"They do not." He brought them to a stop in front of the evergreen. "I see no point in celebrating when there is no one to share it with."

"But what of your sister? Could you not celebrate with her?" Celia asked, her heart hurting for him.

"She disapproves of my lifestyle. We have not seen each other for many years. Not since she married." Lord Crawford reached out and ran a fingertip over the petals of a red paper rose.

"I made that one," she said, a heaviness setting into her heart.

He grinned. "It is lovely. I am not surprised to discover you crafted it."

"Could you not celebrate with your servants? You are a Marquess. What about celebrating for the sake of your tenants?"

He turned his attention to the babbling stream. "I give generously to those under my care. There have been no complaints."

Celia closed her fan. "I imagine not, but I also think they would enjoy a celebration."

He turned to her. "They have their own families and friends. I have been content with my lot."

"Still, the thought of you alone at Christmas pains me."

"It should not, for it has been my choice." He led her away from the tree and toward the fountain.

Celia's brow furrowed with concern. "I find it a terrible choice."

"Then you should be pleased to have me celebrating with you this Christmastide." He winked.

"You seem a bit too confident in that assumption. Christmastide is still several months away." She turned her gaze back to him. "I cannot do anything about Christmastide, but I assure you, I am most pleased you choose to stay for now." In one bold move, she placed her hand on his cravat. "And I dare say you will choose to celebrate if I become your wife."

His grin turned seductive, his gaze burning into hers as he brought his mouth close to hers. "I will if I have you at my side."

Celia angled her chin to welcome his kiss. When he did not close the scant distance remaining, she batted her lashes in confusion. "Are you not going to kiss me?" She asked.

He trailed his finger across her lips. "I believe you have been kissed enough."

Her cheeks burned, indignation lighting within her. "That is a fine thing to say. And here I thought we were getting on well." She pivoted and strode toward the glass door leading into the side yard.

"Wait. I admit, that was poorly done. Allow me to explain," he called after her.

She stopped and crossed her arms over her breasts. One foot tapped impatiently. "Go on."

"What I should have said is that I want us to form a deeper bond. I do not want to seduce you. I want to come to know you fully. To forge a friendship."

Her heart fluttered at the words. "You expect me to believe that?"

He cringed, his mouth pressing into a tight line and brow furrowing. "You make me sound like such a cad," he said, hurt in his tone.

Celia had every reason to distrust him. Every reason to doubt him. Least he'd forgotten, she said, "Let us not forget our first meeting, Lord Crawford." She pointed at him. "You were quite clear about your desires and intentions then, so excuse me if I do not trust you now."

"My actions were inexcusable. Intolerable, even, and you have every right to exercise caution." He stepped closer and captured her hands in his. "It is the very reason I will not kiss you. I will do nothing that a gentleman would not do. You have my word, Celia. I will earn your respect, friendship, and ultimately, your heart."

He pressed his lips to her gloved knuckles, first the right hand, then the left.

The act nearly undid her. She wanted to give herself over to him. To believe every word he spoke and embrace the future he offered.

Still, she hesitated.

He seemed very different, but could a man change so much in a matter of months? Could she have had such an effect on him in such a short amount of time? Celia could not help but guard her heart. She stared deep into his eyes and asked, "Why?" Her throat tightened even as she spoke.

"Because I want a lifetime with you. The words you spoke to me… The way you dominate my thoughts and dreams. I cannot explain it, but I know I need you in my life. Give me a chance, Celia."

She nodded. "Know that if you are toying with me, I will see you punished."

He smiled and held out his hand. "Dance with me, Celia?"

She accepted his offer and allowed him to pull her close. Rather than point out the obvious, she hummed a waltz.

He led her through the dance, their movements in perfect sync. Bringing his mouth close to her ear, he said, "We dance together as if we have done so a million times before."

His breath on her ear caused a riot of sensations within her, and yet, it was his statement that affected her the most. Celia admitted the truth to herself. She'd danced hundreds of times with dozens of partners, but never had it come so naturally.

There was something between them. Something real. Perhaps they had a future together. Maybe they were made for one another. The spark of hope she'd held near as she made her way to the conservatory ignited into a full-blown fire, and she prayed Jasper had come to her in earnest. Prayed there was indeed a future for them to share.

He pressed her close as they danced around a bend in the cobblestone path.

She gave a saucy smile. "I wonder what else we do well together?"

"Temptress," he growled.

Her laughter filled the conservatory.