Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

“ H ardbridge?” a familiar voice called.

Keith halted before he could ride away. He saw Philip, the Duke of Berkley, walking toward him. Uncertain where this conversation would lead, for their conversation that first day in the garden hadn’t been particularly good, Keith kept a neutral expression.

At Philip’s side was the Duke of Rowley, a much quieter man. He had a scar across his face that, judging by his soldierly bearing, Keith presumed was from battle. The latter offered Keith a nod as he approached.

“Before you take your leave…” Philip gestured to Elizabeth’s carriage, which was now pulling away. “We have an offer for you.”

“An offer?” Keith said suspiciously.

“He’s never particularly good at getting to the meat of any matter,” the Duke of Rowley said matter-of-factly. “We box. If you ever fancy an escape from the frivolous ways of the ton…” He eyed Keith rather knowingly.

“Is it that obvious?” Keith asked.

“Perhaps to a like-minded man,” the Duke of Rowley said with a nod. “You’re welcome to join us.”

“I am?” Keith said in surprise.

He glanced uneasily at Philip, remembering the conversation they’d had, where Philip had as good as warned him off Celia.

“You are,” Philip confirmed. “The ton is not welcoming to men like us, but we’ll extend a friendly hand if you’ll take it.”

“Or hit you with it, as we’ll be boxing,” the Duke of Rowley said.

Though Philip laughed, Keith wasn’t entirely certain that the latter was joking. He was not a man who seemed to make many jokes.

“I might just take ye up on that offer.”

Keith couldn’t think of a better way to escape the ton and its frivolity. It was how he had always whiled away the hours when he needed a distraction, in practice for battle. Well, boxing was certainly different from all-out war, perhaps even more disciplined with strict rules, but he could imagine himself taking to it quite readily.

“Aye, I think I will.”

“Then we shall see you back in London.” The Duke of Rowley nodded.

Keith glanced away, looking to the road ahead. He’d had a wild idea of catching up to Celia on the road to talk to her, but now she would be so far ahead that to do so would draw attention to him, as he would have to ride quite fast.

“I can’t believe you’re smitten with her too.” Philip’s sudden chuckle drew Keith’s attention.

“I beg yer pardon?” Keith grunted.

“Don’t anger a man like that, Philip,” the Duke of Rowley said with a smirk. “I imagine he could flatten you with just one punch.”

Philip rolled his eyes as they all smiled.

“Who said I was smitten with anyone?” Keith asked as their laughter died down.

“No one. It’s just Lady Celia seems to turn heads wherever she goes,” Philip explained with a shrug.

“How so?” Keith asked, though he was well aware now that the Duke of Rowley was watching his every move. It was an intense stare indeed, as if he was being watched by some sort of hawk.

“She’s rejected more proposals than you can imagine,” Philip said, waving his hand in the air. “She’s a favorite for some gentlemen, though she doesn’t seem to enjoy it.”

“Most her age are considered spinsters,” the Duke of Rowley took up the thread of the conversation, “but not Lady Celia. She just keeps turning down proposals.”

She does?

Keith tried not to look too interested in this idea, though it suddenly made a lot of sense to him if she held every man with the same contempt and suspicion that she had just shown him. It made him wonder if he was the only man who had ever crept past those barriers.

“Ye surprise me,” Keith muttered, trying to look as if he wasn’t coaxing them into telling him more. “Ye’d think a lady that wild would have been promised to a man by her father some time ago.”

“She’s far too wild for that,” Philip said, shaking his head. “I would wish Grace had more proper friends, but…”

“Celia’s father does not believe in those sorts of arrangements,” the Duke of Rowley added.

Thank God.

Keith tried not to sigh aloud with relief. The thought that Celia’s bold ways would be tempered by a man someday unsettled him considerably.

“She once said that she’s too wild at heart to be shackled to a man for eternity,” Philip declared, waving a dramatic hand. “Shackled… an unpleasant way to look at marriage.”

Keith said nothing to this. Perhaps some couples could make marriage work, but he had seen firsthand how for some, marriage could indeed be shackling. It was why he would not have a wife who cared too much. He would only disappoint her. Then they’d both be imprisoned by their own misery.

“Do you reckon she’ll ever marry?” the Duke of Rowley asked, though he glanced at Keith as he said this.

Once again, Keith felt that the Duke of Rowley was rather like a hawk. Wary of the man’s perceptiveness, he kept his gaze on Philip as the man answered.

“That I do not know. Grace says Celia’s attitude to marriage has softened a little since they all got married. The question is whether any man could break down that last barrier around her, isn’t it?”

“Ye’ll need a man who likes to get his hand burned,” Keith pointed out.

Philip smiled, though Keith had truly meant it. Any man who tried to marry Celia would surely see an argument for it.

That is why she hates what we did… She sees it as a weakness, giving in to pleasure.

To his mind, though, it was no weakness, and he had every intention of showing Celia if he had the chance that passion wasn’t weak. Passion could be everything, even if it was something they could only indulge in on occasion.

“We’ll see you in London then?” the Duke of Rowley asked.

“Aye, London.” Keith nodded.

“Who knows,” the Duke of Rowley said conversationally to Philip as the two walked away. “Maybe this is the Season where Lady Celia will marry, after all.”

A mad idea came to Keith’s mind, of him standing at the altar and Celia walking toward him. She wouldn’t wear white or any other pastel colors. No, she’d wear something bold and unorthodox, something so captivating that he’d find it quite impossible not to look at her. And then he’d plunge his hands into that tumble of red curls and…

No . For her own safety, I am not the man for her to marry.

“Celia?” Marianne’s voice called from the doorway.

It had been two days since they had returned from Lady Arundel’s, and already Celia was used to hearing her mother’s voice calling to her with the same unease and tension.

Celia hesitated as her maid finished pinning her hair. It was the same uneasy tone Marianne always used these days when she came to wave Celia off on her evenings out.

“Thank you,” Celia whispered to her maid. “I’ll be fine from here.”

The maid smiled and left swiftly, clearly sensing that she did not want to be present for what would probably be an uncomfortable conversation.

“You are going to the opera? Again?” Marianne asked.

She walked into the room and appeared behind Celia in the vanity mirror. She pressed her lips together, her anxiety palpable. She looked so much like Violet that sometimes Celia had to glance at her twice. Yet, in character, they were very different.

“The opera is a fine pastime, Mama,” Celia reminded her. “You used to like it yourself. There is nothing scandalous about it?—”

“Being friends with the opera singer is something of a scandal,” Marianne said tightly. She tried to adjust some of Celia’s locks, but Celia leaned forward, just managing to avoid it.

She couldn’t remember Marianne fussing over Violet’s hair anywhere near so much as she fussed over Celia’s. Then again, Violet was not the disappointment that Celia was. Even though Violet had married rather quickly to avoid a scandal, she was still the married daughter and the younger. That meant, as far as Marianne was concerned, Violet was the golden child.

“There is nothing wrong with having friends in walks of life other than your own.” Celia tried to keep her voice soft as she stood up. “She’s a good woman, Mama.”

“Yes, but they whisper about her. They say she keeps company with a painter in Soho, that both are in scandal. That the opera singer herself is not just a singer, but a… a… harlot, ” Marianne said with great distaste.

“Ma!” Celia rounded on her. “Do not talk about my friend in that way. Just because she lives differently, doesn’t mean she is a…” she trailed off, for she could see Marianne’s face had turned almost as red as her hair.

“I just worry about you, dearest.” Marianne moved toward her, grasping her hand. “You are quite the age of a spinster now.”

“Mama—” Celia pleaded.

“I know you’ve said before you are not concerned about marriage, but it is imperative for your own comfort.”

“Must we talk about this now?” Celia withdrew her hand from her mother’s.

The days of Celia trying to earn her mother’s good opinion were long gone. Presently, she contented herself with just trying to mitigate any disasters. The best way to do this was to avoid talking about anything with any meaning attached to it.

“It’s just a show at the opera. The Duke and Duchess of Rowley are escorting me. You like them. What is there to worry about?”

Marianne nodded a little. She looked a little more satisfied, though she repeatedly wrung her hands.

“If you insist, very well,” she sighed and then stepped toward Celia. “Just, please, assure me of something, Celia. For this Season, you will be careful.”

“I’m always careful.” The lie didn’t even sound convincing to Celia’s ears. “Well, I shall take more care if you wish.”

“Thank you.” Marianne looked incredibly relieved. “Well, enjoy the opera, though I admit… the company you keep worries me greatly.”

Then she walked out of the room fast.

Celia stared at her retreating figure, rather numb. She couldn’t even move as she considered her mother’s words.

I wonder what she would make of the Duke of Hardbridge?

Marianne would have naturally liked the idea of a duke, but he was no ordinary duke. Celia had a strong suspicion that her mother would faint on the spot if she heard of a duke who used to be a Scottish laird and was more a warrior than he was a gentleman.

What was more, if Marianne ever heard that her eldest daughter had entertained his company in private, Celia couldn’t even imagine what her response would be.

She’d probably never forgive me for it.

Frustrated to find her mind had turned back to the Duke of Hardbridge again, for about the sixth time in two days since she had returned to London, Celia grabbed her pelisse and her reticule and then hastened toward the door.

“What does it matter?” she muttered to herself as she marched down the stairs. “London is a busy place, and he may not attend the same events as I. Maybe… I’ll never have to see him again.”

“Are you well?”

“What? Why wouldn’t I be?” Celia muttered distractedly as she sat back in the carriage.

Opposite her on the other bench were Diana and Aaron. The summer evening meant that the sky was still full of light that filtered through the window, illuminating their expressions, which were rather curious.

“What is it?”

Celia wiped her cheeks, rather concerned she had something on her face, for they were gazing at her so intently.

“It’s just you look a little… distracted,” Diana explained slowly. “Are you sleeping well?”

“Perfectly,” Celia lied. “I have never slept so peacefully in my life as I am doing at present. I must be tired after that house party.”

In reality, she had barely slept. She knew too from gazing in the mirror that morning that it was obvious, judging by the heavy grey shadows under her eyes.

However, she was hardly in the mood to tell anyone that she couldn’t sleep, for they would undoubtedly ask why.

She could hardly tell them it was because each time she closed her eyes, she imagined that the Duke of Hardbirdge was in the bed with her, pulling her nightgown over her head and exploring her with those strong fingers again. Often, she woke up in a sweat, even if the night air was cold, imagining that he was truly in the corner of the room, watching her, waiting to deliver that delicious pleasure once more.

“All is well,” she said forcefully.

Diana seemed satisfied and proceeded to talk about the opera, but it did not escape Celia’s notice that Aaron continued to stare at her.

“Who else is going tonight?” Celia asked after some minutes of talking about the opera.

“The usual group,” Diana said. “Violet, Eleanor and Grace, along with Xander, Dorian and Philip.”

“The Duke of Hardbridge may come too,” the Duke of Rowley suddenly added.

“What?” Celia was aware she had stiffened.

Diana looked at her with raised eyebrows, and Aaron had the smallest of smiles on his face. She thought it might have been her imagination, for it was gone the next second.

“I mentioned it in passing to him when he came to practice his boxing with us,” Aaron explained.

“Boxing?” Celia asked, aware she must have sounded far more interested than she wanted to.

Diana looked at her with interest.

How can one not sound fascinated?

An image flashed through Celia’s mind—the Duke of Hardbridge, shirtless as he had been on the night he had carried her out of the lake, his hands raised to protect his face before he lashed out at an opponent in the boxing ring.

Oh my…

The extent to which those broad shoulders would have been on show had Celia pressing her thighs together beneath her gown, aware that the ache she had experienced before had started again between her legs.

“Unsurprisingly, he wiped the floor with most of us,” Aaron said with a slight smile. “It had been a while since I found a worthy opponent. It might be wise to put a wager on him sometime in a fight. Just not when he fights against me.”

“Aaron,” Diana whispered to him, her tone rather disapproving. Though, when he winked, she smiled and seemed to melt into his side.

Celia had to do her best not to scoff at the reaction.

“Well, I think he is an excellent choice for a sparring partner,” Celia declared.

“Celia!” Diana exclaimed.

“What?” Celia smiled a little. “Can one not admit that the Duke of Hardbridge is physically strong and therefore quite likely to win a match?”

Even if that was not at all what I was thinking of.

“Well, you may see him again tonight,” Diana warned.

Celia turned to look out the window. The news mattered more than it should, but the devil take her if she would let that show.