Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

“ I don’t know what you mean.” Lady Celia released Keith’s shoulders.

The moment her touch was gone, he knew he couldn’t continue to hold on to her, despite the temptation. Soon enough, the ladies who were about to start their picnic would notice that he was holding her for far longer than a man should when helping a lady down from her horse.

It was no easy thing though, releasing Lady Celia’s waist and hip. The mere feel of that curve beneath his broad fingers was making him imagine what could have happened in his chamber the night before had he gripped her beneath her nightgown in such a fashion.

Bold touches in the bedchamber were the best. It was that added intensity, the tension that thrilled him.

“Ye know exactly what I mean,” Keith said, releasing her all the same.

“A true gentleman would have let a lady win.” She turned and righted the reins behind her, settling her horse.

“I never said I was a gentleman, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” she hissed, turning sharply around to face him again.

He chuckled and walked away, turning to busy himself with his own horse. He couldn’t help sneaking a glance at Lady Celia every few seconds though, hoping she did not notice.

He was reluctant to admit it, but she was indeed a very impressive rider. He had not expected to find an English lady who could ride with so much fervor. The way her hips had rocked in the saddle as she rode, though, had made him think things he shouldn’t.

He pictured her above him, riding him as she had ridden that horse, her hips rocking back and forth as she pleasured them both. He’d squeeze the curve of her hips as she did so, perhaps tug on her hair, as she cried out his name.

“Picnic?” The Duke of Barlow’s voice made Keith look away, interrupting his thoughts of Lady Celia.

“Aye, picnic.” Keith nodded.

“Nice riding,” the Duke of Barlow said as they left their horses behind and made their way toward the picnic blankets. “A soldier, eh?”

“Ye got that from the rumors or the way I rode?”

“Both.” The Duke of Barlow smiled. “But I’m happy to be corrected.” He walked a little slower, urging Keith to do the same. “A little advice on rumors, though. If you wish to stop idle tongues, be careful how much time you spend talking to Lady Celia alone.”

“Ye’re warning me away from her?” Keith asked with a laugh. “Yer friend, the Duke of Berkley, already did that.”

“Warning you off? Far from it.” The Duke of Barlow laughed, shaking his head. “I know firsthand how the ton like to take a rumor and run with it.” A darkness took over his expression, one that told Keith all he needed to know.

At one time, the ton’s words made this man miserable.

“Only let them talk about what you want them to talk about. It’s the best advice I can give,” the Duke of Barlow whispered.

“Thank ye, Duke,” Keith said, appreciating the kindness, even if it was said rather gruffly.

Perhaps not all men here are alike.

“Call me Xander.” The Duke of Barlow waved his hand dismissively. “With all these nobles around, we’ll get confused calling each other ‘Duke’ all the time.”

“Very well.” Keith smiled and followed Xander over to the picnic.

As Xander went to kiss his wife in greeting, Keith’s eyes slid to the Duchess’s sister, Celia.

She was now doing her best to pretend he didn’t exist as she took her seat between her friends on the picnic blanket. In fact, she might have even been blushing. He had not often seen color on her cheeks, though he rather wondered if she had been blushing the night he had carried her out of the lake naked.

Something practically purred in his chest at the memory as he took a seat across the blanket, a distance from her. It was rather like a giant tiger, some fierce cat purring at the mere thought of her, determined to have her.

No more. I cannot indulge in imaginings anymore.

Yet, his eyes defied him as he looked at her and the way she was talking to her friends.

Becoming infatuated with Lady Celia could lead to nothing good. Had he not witnessed firsthand how marriage could make everyone involved miserable?

He looked away to where his mother was sitting with Lady Arundel. It was the happiest he could ever remember seeing Elizabeth. Without her husband, back in England, she was free at last to be who she wanted. Even the way she smiled made his heart soar.

This is why I need a wife who doesn’t want to spend time with me. We won’t make each other miserable, we can live apart, and I’ll feel no need to ‘own’ her.

The last thought struck him in a startling way. Of their own accord, his eyes flicked back to Lady Celia. He couldn’t quite imagine any man trying to own her, though he envied the man who could give it a try.

“Well, I can see you’re mad that you didn’t win.” Violet’s words made Celia roll her eyes as she busied herself with the food.

“Oh, she’s fuming,” Grace said in agreement, nodding fervently. “She can’t even look us in the eye.”

“Of course I can.” Celia raised her chin and looked Grace in the eye. “Yet, fury can take many forms.”

“You don’t deny it, then?” Eleanor asked.

Eleanor and Diana had arrived that morning with their own husbands. They sat on Celia’s other side, with Diana frequently looking at her husband, who was sitting with the other gentlemen. Eleanor was clearly much more fascinated with their conversation and pushed her glasses further up her nose to watch Celia more intently.

“No, I don’t deny it,” Celia muttered resentfully. “Well, at least I beat every gentleman here.”

“You didn’t beat the Duke of Hardbridge,” Eleanor reminded her.

“Oh, is he a gentleman?” Celia whispered.

Her friends laughed but teased her no more about the race.

“It’s curious,” Diana began, turning her attention back to the group. “From what Violet told me, you seem quite intrigued by the Duke of Hardbridge.”

“Intrigued?” Celia looked sharply at her sister, but Violet was now doing her very best to hide her face in a box of sandwiches, as if she could not find the flavor she wanted.

“In fact, I can’t remember hearing about you giving so much attention to any man,” Diana whispered, fidgeting shyly.

“Perhaps she likes him,” Eleanor concluded with too much finality for Celia’s liking.

“I reject the premise entirely,” Celia protested, putting down her sandwich, no longer interested in eating.

“Why?” Grace asked.

“Because no man can have control over my thoughts. That idea is ridiculous.”

“You think not?” The doubt in Violet’s expression was plain. She raised her eyebrows and looked between her sister and the Duke of Hardbridge.

Reluctantly, Celia let her eyes drift toward him. He was sitting with Xander, his deep voice reaching her ears even at this distance. They were talking about riding.

“Because I think the opposite seems to be true at the moment,” Violet said, her eyes gleaming. “You watched him all breakfast.”

“I did not!”

“Perhaps it is possible for a man to consume your thoughts, after all.” Violet giggled at the idea.

Her amusement only irritated Celia further. She sat forward, her hands clenching into fists.

“I will not…” She faltered, her fury tying her tongue.

“You will not what?” Violet prompted.

“I will not… end up like some women,” Celia argued.

“What? Married?” Eleanor suggested.

“No.” Celia stood up. She’d had enough of this conversation and wasn’t going to put up with it anymore. “Enjoy your picnic. I’m not hungry.”

With those final words, she turned away. She marched toward her mare and mounted, eager to escape as fast as she possibly could.

“Lady Celia?” Lord Porter’s voice called to her. “Are you leaving so soon?”

“I am not done riding yet, My Lord.” She didn’t even turn back to look at anyone in the group as she flicked the reins and rode away.

Determined to put as much distance between her and the suggestion of marriage as possible, she rode into the fields. She didn’t even pay much attention to where she was going, just so long as she got far away from there.

As she rode, hot tears pricked her eyes, though she refused to let them fall as she thought of her poor cousin.

Charlotte. She could remember Charlotte all too well. She had been beautiful with raven hair and blue eyes, and she had the kindest of souls. It was a soul that Celia would never be able to talk to again, though.

The man who seduced her had seen to that.

“I won’t be like her,” Celia muttered, wiping away her tears as she turned her horse back into the stable yard. “I’ll be free of men. Free of… seduction.”

She could still remember how excited Charlotte was the first time she had met the man. It hadn’t mattered that he was so much older than her, for all that had mattered was the rush of excitement Charlotte had felt at that meeting.

It had ended in tragedy and despair.

As she dismounted her mare and passed the reins into the stable boy’s hands, Celia made up her mind. She had no wish to be linked to the Duke of Hardbridge, and if she desired him, then she would have to do as he asked and find him a bride. More importantly, find him a bride fast so she didn’t have to keep thinking of him.

As she returned to her chamber, she made a plan. Grabbing a piece of parchment, she wrote him a letter, ready to slip it under his door as soon as she had an opportunity to do so.

To the Duke of Hardbridge,

Tonight, at the ball, you shall have your first official lesson in being a gentleman who can charm a lady into marriage. Pay attention if you want me to hold up my end of the bargain and find you a wife.

C.

“You’re going to have to stop fumbling with it, Keith,” Xander said as they descended the stairs. “Or are you hoping to tear it off your neck soon?”

“I look ridiculous,” Keith complained.

He was well aware that he had to attend balls now and dress a certain way, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

“It’s what’s done.” Xander chuckled. “Chin up, the ball can’t last forever. You might even find that you like it.”

“And pigs may fly.”

Xander laughed once more and left, clearly hurrying off to find his wife in the crowd.

Keith stood at the edge of the ballroom, reluctant to join the crowds. It seemed that on top of the guests already staying for a couple of days at the house, Lady Arundel had invited other people.

He was used to his castle in Scotland. When crowds came there, it was for a feast or a party, but nothing so formal as a ball. He eyed the ladies and gentlemen around him in frustration.

Many of the ladies looked so tightly bound in their stays that they couldn’t breathe, and others had so many feathers in their hair that they looked like parakeets. The gentlemen were just as stiff-backed, with many sticking their noses in the air that they looked like they had smelled a bad odor.

“Give me the great outdoors any day of the week,” he muttered to himself, then caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.

He looked even more peculiar than he had anticipated. The tailcoat was overly fussy, and the cravat had far too many layers to it. Stepping closer to the mirror, he pulled off the tailcoat and threw it over a nearby chair, then he pulled the cravat loose.

“What are you doing?” Elizabeth’s voice suddenly asked.

“I look like a dressed-up chicken.”

“You do not,” his mother complained, though she laughed as she stepped in front of him and took the cravat from his hands. “Here, let me.”

She was much more adept at this than his valet, for she managed to tie the cravat in a way that wasn’t half so flamboyant, and positively subdued by comparison.

“There, how’s that?”

“Thank ye.”

He paused, looking at his mother. It wasn’t just the smile on her face that had changed her countenance—it was the attention she’d given to her dress and her hair too. She looked more like herself than he remembered seeing her in a long time.

“I’m glad to see ye so happy.”

She smiled softly and laid a hand on his arm. “It’s my dearest hope that you will be as happy in England as I am, Keith.” She patted his arm dotingly.

He sighed and looked away, knowing that he only came here for her. If he’d only had himself to think of, then he would have stayed in Scotland.

“I’m fine,” he lied through gritted teeth.

“Then perhaps I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you dance this evening?”

“Dance?” he scoffed at the notion. “I…” he trailed off.

He’d had no intention of dancing whatsoever, but at that moment, he looked toward the dance floor to see that Lady Celia was dancing.

His words failed him as he watched her.

She didn’t dance demurely or daintily the way ladies of the ton so often did. As she did in so much else, she observed the barest form of the rules but lent them a passion and energy that was all her own. She flashed her partner such a beaming smile that something in Keith’s gut twisted.

She had never smiled at him like that. Then again, he had gone out of his way to infuriate her as much as possible.

She looked beautiful. There was no other way to describe her, for she was dressed in a bold red gown, a huge contrast to all the other pastel colors in the room. It accentuated the deep tones of her hair and her green eyes.

When she laid her hand on her dance partner’s, Keith almost gagged at the sight of the man. He was nothing compared to her. He was scrawny in build, his face drawn and haggard. He did not belong at her side.

“Excuse me,” he whispered to his mother. “There’s someone I have to speak to.”

He walked away, though his mother was already heading toward Lady Arundel.

Keith crossed the room and moved to the edge of the dance floor, watching Lady Celia and her dance partner as they were leaving. They halted at the side, and Lady Celia smiled at her partner.

“You are a fine dancer, Sir,” she complimented the scrawny man.

“Thank you, My Lady. Perhaps we could?—”

The thought that the man was about to ask her for another dance made Keith’s gut churn. He stepped in front of them before the man could finish the sentence.

Fortunately, Keith’s extreme height and imposing presence made the man look at him at once and stop talking. While the gentleman jerked his head back in alarm, Lady Celia narrowed her eyes at him.

“Lady Celia is dancing with me next.”

At Keith’s words, the gentleman stepped away. “Yes—yes, of course,” he stuttered. “If you’d excuse me.”

He ran off like a whipped cur with his tail between his legs.

“What are you doing?” Celia stepped toward Keith, her face flushing red.

“At last, a blush,” he whispered to her.

“This is anger. It is no blush,” she muttered darkly. “You and I are not dancing together.”

“How else are ye to give me my first lesson?” he challenged her.

“We’ll find another way. My dance card is full.” She lifted her wrist for him to see. “And your name isn’t on it.”

“Give me the damn card.” He held his hand out for it.

“I will not.”

She moved to turn away from him, but he reached out and subtly took hold of her wrist. She could have easily pulled her hand out of his grip, and yet to his surprise, she didn’t. Instead, she followed him as he pulled her an inch back toward him.

“Give me the card,” he ordered again.

“I do not have to follow your orders,” she protested, yet his fingers lifted her wrist an inch and found her dance card.

He undid the bow with one quick flick of his fingers and pulled the card free, then he lifted it with the tiny pencil attached to it on a piece of string. He crossed out all the other names on the card.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t reply, he was too busy doing exactly what he wanted to do. He looked up from the card to meet her gaze. He could see the rage there. Her eyes were wide and flashing with anger, but he didn’t care.

The mere thought of that scrawny man dancing with her again… it’s appalling.

“You wouldn’t,” she warned, but he was already doing it.

With a flourish, he wrote down his name against every entry on the dance card.

“Are you mad?” she hissed.

“It’s done. Ye are only allowed to dance with me tonight.”