Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

T he Duke moved away with ease.

“I’m tempted to tell you to go and drown yourself,” Celia said to his retreating back.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, that same smirk on his lips. “Ye already know I can swim well, lass.”

Keith marched back toward the house. Now that he’d accomplished one goal, he could move on.

He hardly took pleasure in the blackmail, but as he had said, it was necessary, and he always did what was necessary.

As he reached the stairs leading back into the house, however, he found he was not alone. He hesitated as a man stepped up behind him. The man wasn’t quite as tall as him, but strong in bearing and clearly wealthy from what he was wearing.

Keith had spotted him conversing with the Duke of Barlow, though he didn’t know his name.

“The Duke of Berkley,” the man said tightly and offered the slightest of bows.

“Good day.” Keith returned the bow. “Ye have come with something to say?” he questioned, not seeing a reason for delaying such a discussion.

The Duke of Berkley glanced toward where Lady Celia now was with her friends, then stepped forward again.

“I’m married to a good friend of Lady Celia’s,” he said quickly, nodding toward another young woman at the matchmaker’s side. “She was not alone in noticing that your promenade with Lady Celia lasted a little too long.”

“Are there such rules? Should I time how long I walk with a lady?” Keith asked, raising his eyebrows.

The Duke of Berkley grimaced, apparently not liking such rules either. “It’s just the way of things.” He set his face straight again. “I hope nothing untoward has happened to my friend.”

“Untoward? No. It was merely a discussion.” Keith didn’t wish to add fuel to any rumors about him and Lady Celia becoming close. “Rest assured, we merely spoke.”

He nodded once, indicating their conversation was over, before he walked back into the house.

Though the word ‘untoward’ lingered. After what he had felt of Celia’s bare body the night before, he wanted to do many untoward things to her. He focused mainly on the thought of kissing his way down her body.

He could imagine the sheer outrage if anyone ever knew that he was imagining kissing the most secret part of Lady Celia’s body, making her cry out his name.

He’d just have to be careful never to give himself the opportunity to indulge in such fantasies.

“This is a ridiculous idea,” Celia muttered to herself as she looked in the mirror again.

She was wearing a nightgown and her dressing gown, which was tied tightly around her waist. She had wanted to be fully clothed for this meeting with the Duke of Hardbridge, but her lady’s maid had already come and undressed her, and to object to such a thing would be suspicious, indeed.

She reasoned she could dress again herself, but to do so felt strange. After all, the Duke had already seen her in nearly nothing. There was something almost titillating about the idea of rebelling against the norms by going to see him like this.

She folded up the Duke’s shirt into a small ball and then stepped into the corridor. She didn’t take a candle with her, fearing drawing attention to herself this late at night. Slowly, she tiptoed through the corridors, heading toward the wing of the house where she knew all the gentlemen were staying for the night.

Turning a corner, she hesitated when she saw two doors were ajar.

He must be behind one of those doors. It’s his signal, his way of telling me which room he’s in.

She tiptoed toward the first one, her heart in her mouth. Pressing her face to the gap, she peered inside.

Wrong room!

Yet, as fast as this thought struck, she realized something else. Inside this chamber were a lord and a lady.

Celia couldn’t be sure who the pair were.

She saw a blonde lady standing with the gentleman, her face turned up toward his as he moved to kiss her. Fearing what more she would see, Celia hastily backed up from the door, trying to close it as softly and as quietly as she possibly could.

In their haste to transgress, they forgot to close the door.

Celia had to lift a hand to stifle her laugh. When she reached the other door, she didn’t bother knocking but opened it wide. Fortunately, she made no mistake this time.

The Duke of Hardbridge was in that room, wearing nothing but a shirt and his trousers. He sat in the window seat, his frame so tall that he could barely get one foot up on the wall opposite him. With his arms folded across his chest, his biceps strained against the fabric.

“What took ye so long?”

He had filled the room with candles, the light so bright that Celia closed the door behind her and started promptly to blow out wicks.

“Ye looking for a tryst in the dark, lass?”

“I’m not looking for a tryst. I’m wearing little enough as it is. I don’t need you to see every curve—you had seen enough last night.”

“Ye were the one who took off yer clothes. That was not my doing.”

“Argh, enough.” She stopped blowing out candles. Now, there were just a few left. In that dimmer light, she marched toward him and tossed his shirt to him. “Here, have your shirt back.”

He took the shirt from her but tossed it aside quickly. Now she was standing so near to him that she could see his shirt was partially open. It revealed a glimpse of his chest, showing that it was just as toned as she had thought it was last night, when it was pressed against her as he carried her out of the water.

“So?” she prompted, angry at the silence and how she was already attracted to him when he was just sitting lazily in front of her.

“So…” he drawled, his voice deeper than ever.

She had to take a small step back, alarmed at the power that deep voice could have over her.

“What is it you want, exactly?” She folded her arms, all too aware that his eyes had traveled down from her face to her dressing gown.

She covered up as best as she could. This close to him, she could now see what she had been unable to see in the darkness the night before. His eyes were a misty gray.

“A bride.”

“I know that much,” she huffed. “If you want a matchmaker, clearly you have something precise in mind and you have been unable to find it. You’re looking for someone else to find love for you.”

Something in his body hardened. He rose from the window seat, towering over her. This time though, she refused to be weak and didn’t back away from him.

“Nothing so… romantic, ” he emphasized with evident disgust. He walked away from her, nearly brushing her shoulder. She tried not to shudder at his proximity as she remembered what it was like to be touched by him the night before. “So, you’ll do it then? You’ll help me find a bride?”

He lifted a decanter from a shelf and placed it down on the table. He poured a single glass of golden liquid. She recognized it all too well.

It was hardly a drink her parents would have ever served up at one of the parties of the ton, but she had tasted it often in the painter’s studio. A Scotsman from Edinburgh had brought it with him for a party once.

She walked toward the Duke of Hardbridge and picked up the glass the moment he was done pouring it.

“Ye’ll find that strong…” He faltered as she took her first sip.

“It’s not my first whisky.” She took another sip and walked away from him. His eyes followed her across the room. “Why should I help you? Everyone knows I’m bold and reckless. They whisper about me enough. How would a naked swim damage my reputation?”

She may have been bluffing, but she tried to look at ease as she took his place in the window seat.

Part of her thought she might be right, that people would either not believe the tale of her naked swim or would dismiss it as her being wild. Yet, deep down, she was fearful of what her mother would think.

She had learned long ago that Marianne preferred Violet out of the two of them. Violet had always been more proper, therefore Marianne was proud of her. Celia couldn’t help fearing what her mother would say if she ever heard of her naked swim.

“Aye, a naked swim ye might survive, but if there’s one thing I have learned since joining English Society, it’s that they put far too much focus on what a lady and a gentleman do together when they’re alone.” He pulled out another glass and poured a measure for himself. “The news that a man was watching ye, touching ye, carrying ye…” He paused and gestured to her with his glass.

She nearly choked on her whisky. “You said you didn’t see anything.”

He smirked. She wasn’t sure whether to ask him what he thought of what he saw or to throw her glass at him.

“It’s not wise to goad a lady when she has a glass in her hand,” she muttered darkly.

He continued to smirk as he turned and sat on the table.

“There’s a chair.” She pointed at the seat. “Most gentlemen would have sat in the chair.”

“I am no English gentleman.”

Something in his voice made her want to squirm, though she fought the urge, staring at him in wonder.

Apparently, you’re a Scottish warrior.

It was all too easy to believe while sitting there, staring at his strong physique and towering frame. If he’d produced a broadsword from within a coffer nearby, she would have hardly been surprised.

“Of course, you’re no gentleman.” She recovered quickly. “Any man with the slightest goodness in him would know not to blackmail a lady if he wants her help.”

“Would it have been better just to ask?” he scoffed. “In my experience, asking does not get ye far.”

“Are you asking if kindness ever helps a man get what he wants?” She leaned forward, raising her eyebrows. He matched her stance, incredulous. “God’s blood. Welcome to a different world, Your Grace. Wherever you came from, if there was no kindness in it, then I’ll have to adjust my opinion from thinking ill of you to pitying you.”

“I need no pity,” he said sharply, lifting his chin just an inch. “You want kindness? Fine.” He pushed off the table and walked toward her, carrying the decanter in one hand. He used it to top up her glass as she held it aloft to him. “Please help me, lass.”

His voice had softened to something that seemed to pluck a chord within her. She released a shaky breath and hastily took a sip of her whisky, affecting an easy look.

“Now, was that so hard?” she asked with a smile. “Tell me, why do you need a bride so desperately?”

Rather than retreating to the table, he walked away and sat on the edge of his bed. Celia started, realizing for the first time just how close that bed was. With him sitting on the covers, she couldn’t help but imagine sitting next to him.

What would it be like to abandon all rules now that they were alone in his room together?

“I’ve recently taken over my uncle’s estate and dukedom. The tenants, the estate… it needs money if it’s ever going to return to what it once was.”

“Why?” she asked.

He didn’t answer her. He took another sip of his whisky instead.

“I need a wife with a generous dowry. Aye, let us leave it at that,” he said darkly, that gaze warning her not to probe further.

“There are many young ladies to choose from. Why do you need my help?”

“Because I am not out to seduce anyone.”

“Really? You could have fooled me.” Both her voice and her lashes dropped flirtatiously. A voice in her head told her it was a foolish time to push this point, but she couldn’t resist. “You did carry me half-naked out of the lake last night.”

“I am looking for a business arrangement.” He crossed his arms and looked sharply at her, clearly choosing not to take the bait. “Ye find me the best bride—someone obedient, with a dowry, and has no wish to find love—and yer reputation remains intact. Until ye decide to run around naked again, of course. Who knows what man will be pulling ye out of the water then.”

She put down the glass, rage spiking inside of her.

“No one was supposed to see me.” She rose to her feet and walked toward him.

He moved as she did, rising from the bed and putting down his glass on the side table.

They came toward one another in the middle of the room, with him looming over her.

“You, of all people, were certainly not supposed to see.”

“Why, lass?” he goaded, leaning toward her. “Worried a man would be tempted? That he would have taken ye there and then by the water?” His eyes flicked down to her lips.

His words made her blood pound in her ears. She had heard of pleasure. She knew how a woman could reach climax, how it could be so all-encompassing that one could practically lose control of oneself. She also knew how to touch a man to make him groan in pleasure. Her actress friend had whispered such things to her.

They were things she had never dreamt of doing, not since she found out that such pleasures could lead to absolute ruin and misery.

It’s not worth the risk.

Yet, her eyes darted to his lips too.

“Do not tempt me, lass.” His accent was suddenly all the more noticeable.

“Oh, I’m not tempting you,” she said, taking just a small step back, though that step spoke volumes.

In no uncertain terms, she was telling him that she was not his to kiss and cross boundaries with.

“Tell me,” she urged, “what is it you want in a wife?”

The sooner she got him wed, the better. Then she wouldn’t have to put up with him tempting her by looking at her in such a way.

“One, obedient.” He held up his hand, counting off things on his fingers. “Two, a healthy dowry. Three, demure.”

She snorted at this one.

“What? Ye have something against a lass being demure?”

“No. A woman can be demure if she wants to be, but a man seeking it is never after a truly demure woman. He’s only ever looking for a woman with no opinions. It’s his code for saying he wants to give all the orders in his house,” she pointed out, folding her arms.

“So, ye have no intention of ever following a man’s orders?”

“None.”

“Ye never know. Sometimes, it can be fun.” The way he sat back down on the bed told her exactly what he was referring to.

Celia felt heat radiate through her body at the idea of doing just as the Duke of Hardbridge told her to on that bed. Infuriatingly, she wasn’t anywhere near as scared by the idea as she thought she should be.

On the contrary… it thrills me.

She pointedly took another small step back.

“What else is on your list?” she hissed.

“I do not want a lass who wants to be with me every hour of every day. Finally, I want a woman who doesn’t believe in love and will be happy with the idea of taking lovers in a marriage.”

Celia’s lips fell open. She couldn’t help but glance at the bed. Even though she knew this wasn’t his own bed from his own home, the thought that he hoped to entertain many different ladies in his bed sent another angry thrill through her.

“Ye have a problem with the idea of a man wanting experience, lass?”

“Enough. Love doesn’t work like that,” she spat.

“And I said I am not looking for love. It has no place in marriage.”

“And what about passion?” Her feet seemed to act of their own accord. She crossed the room and stopped before him. “What of that?”

“Ye can have passion without marriage.” His eyes slid down to her lips again. “Ye and I both know that we could have had that passion last night, lass.”

“You’re mad.”

Yet, the words didn’t sound anywhere near as angry from her lips as she wanted them to sound.

Slowly, he rose from the bed and moved toward her. As he bent down, she felt as if her heart was in her mouth.

He’s not… surely, he would not kiss me…

Yet, his lips hovered just out of reach.

She had a mad idea of flinging herself at him, of kissing him, of clinging to those biceps and feeling his strength as he laid her down on that bed. A curious flame overtook her, and she wanted to experience all the things she had ever heard about passion.

He leaned even closer to her. He was so near, and she seemed unable to move away. She even closed her eyes, waiting for it, longing to know what it would be like to kiss a man as wild as him.

Then the memory of that lord and lady she had just seen wrapped in one another’s arms came back to her.

I will not be that woman.

She suddenly pushed the Duke of Hardbridge away. He actually chuckled deeply as he fell back on the bed.

“You demon. I have never known a man as rude as you.” She stepped back, her hands in her hair as she realized with horror just how close she had come to breaking all the rules she preferred to bend. “How would any polite society accept you? How would any lady marry you?”

“Ye didn’t seem to mind me, lass. Ye closed yer eyes.” He looked up at her with a smirk. “Ye nearly kissed me.”

“You are the most annoying man I have ever met,” she hissed, taking another step back.

How was it that she felt so out of her depth around this man? She had never been so at a loss for words as she was with him!

“And ye are the boldest lass I have ever met.”

“Ah, enough,” she snapped as he stood up. She feared he would come close to her again.

Maybe it’s my response to him that I fear if he does…

“You asked for my help in finding you a wife, and you shall have it, but in order to do it, you will at least have to act like a gentleman.” She waved a hand up and down at him, then stood tall, trying to regain her composure. “I bet I can make you into an eligible gentleman after five simple lessons.”

“I bet I can seduce ye without behaving like a soft Englishman after five lessons, lass.”

“You are not seducing me!” she snapped.

“Fine, then, I’ll seduce any lass ye put in front of me.” He winked at her.

Determined not to find out how he would seduce her if she gave him the chance, she spun on her heel and marched toward the door.

“We’ll just see about that.”