Page 29 of The Duke Disaster (The League of Extraordinary Widows #1)

28

G ood lord, I hate the opera.

Celia had only attended one other time, and this evening’s performance was far worse than she remembered. Tedious. Overwrought. Lots of warbling.

To be fair, it might not have been the opera itself, merely that Celia was trapped in Lord Atherby’s box with little escape. Surrounded by hostile Barnes cousins. Suffocating under the earl’s pomade and pretentiousness. Lady Helen’s sly grin.

But the evening had become that much worse when Hartwood had arrived.

I refuse to call him Oliver any longer.

Difficult was too mild a word, though there were signs that Atherby’s assessment of the situation was correct. The Barnes cousins, even Sir Richard, had nodded with relief when Shaddick had sat beside her. Hartwood had barely taken notice of her, which had the cousins sighing in relief once more. Claremont had even nodded in approval. Honestly, Celia had found the lot of them far too obvious.

Hartwood, breathtaking in his formal wear, deserved far better than the censure of those who depended so fully on him. The Barnes reputation was important to him. Celia loved him too much to be the cause of its loss. No matter how dearly it cost her.

I don’t feel entirely noble at the moment.

“Will you excuse me, Mrs. Barnes. I think I’ll indulge in a cheroot, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, Mr. Shaddick.” He was a lovely man, but Celia was having trouble enjoying his company. Not only were the other occupants of the box watching them, but she had no real interest in Shaddick.

Oddly enough, Shaddick had attended Harrow with Percival and her brother, though he’d been two years behind. He wasn’t well acquainted with either, thankfully. Shaddick was in shipping, highly educated, and had an appreciation for a bit of clutter, which she’d found out when he’d mentioned the state of his study.

But there was no spark. No hum. He was far too pleasant. Laughed at all her observations. And one of the buttons on his coat was loose, dangling by a thread. She had to resist the urge to point out that thread. The duke would have been apoplectic.

Celia sighed at the ache of her heart. She did not expect it to ease for some time, if ever. A condition she assumed that, over time, would fade. Possibly.

As Shaddick departed, she looked down at her lap, furious at her own weakness.

Hartwood had ended things. Unable to even face her. She hadn’t thought him so cowardly. Could he not have at least sent a note? Wished her well? Didn’t she merit at least that much from him?

I made him a bloody picnic.

Anger surged through her, which was far better than bitterness and sorrow. Celia had already had a lifetime of both. She’d written Eleanor today, informing her friend that she would finally be coming to visit. The sooner, the better. She had no burning desire to remain in London to witness Hartwood’s wedding to Lady Helen.

Abruptly, Celia came to her feet, the air of Atherby’s box suddenly intolerable. As she made her way out, she passed Shaddick and promptly made an excuse about seeing to her needs. Hartwood, thankfully, was nowhere in sight.

Probably redecorating the bloody lobby.

Leaving Atherby’s box was freeing. Her lungs expanded instantly. She could finally breathe. Celia hurried down the stairs, running her hand along the wall because one of the lamps had gone out and the last thing she needed was to trip while attempting to flee.

Had she meant anything to Hartwood?

No. She had not. My autumn . What rubbish.

There was nothing quite like the sting of rejection coupled with doing the right thing to put one in an awful mood. She should take a lover. Immediately. Maybe Shaddick, if Celia could stir up some sort of desire for him. Or Elliot. But no matter what the Barnes cousins might demand, she was not going to marry again. The Duke of Hartwood and the rest of that priggish family could go hang. She would taint the Barnes name in perpetuity. Dance in every fountain in London.

Or possibly, Celia would take up residence in the country with Eleanor. Find a nice…farmer to keep her occupied. Or a shopkeeper. A gardener. A man who possessed a heart instead of a block of ice.

Anyone but a duke.

Celia shut her eyes and pressed a hand to her mouth, attempting to hold on to her anger so she wouldn’t start sobbing out loud. The pain would fade in time. It had to. She didn’t need an obsessively tidy duke. No one did. Atherby might be angry if she left the opera but on the other hand, pleased to have her gone. Celia had served her purpose. She was done with the Barnes family, Atherby, his perfect daughter, Lord Claremont, and especially His Dourness, the Duke of Hartwood.

She nodded, feeling much better. Stronger.

Taking another step, Celia tripped— that bloody light is out —and ran straight into a wall of warm muscle. The smell of bergamot filled her nose, along with cheroot and a scent that was wholly and entirely his .

No. No. No.

“Leaving so soon, Mrs. Barnes?” His Dourness drawled, fingers wrapping around her arms rather possessively under the circumstances. “What will Shaddick think?”

Celia didn’t care for his…chilly snideness.

“Your Grace, please excuse me. I am on my way out,” she said as politely as possible while stomping on his foot.

Cursing, Hartwood released her. “That was unnecessary.”

“I don’t think so.” Righteous indignation blazed inside her. She had done what he wanted—what everyone wanted. Now she only wished to be left alone.

He blocked her attempt to step around him.

“Hurrying out to meet Elliot?” he said in that same icy tone. “I saw him wandering about on the terrace. Oh, and Chester, earlier. You can have your pick. Though you might have to share Chester with Lady Tipton, but possibly you?—”

“What of it, Your Grace?” Celia spat out. Despite everything , including attending this bloody opera to make things easier for him , Hartwood still thought her some sort of mindless trollop. Didn’t he realize what it had cost her to be here tonight? Instead, he was busy hurling unfounded accusations at her.

“Lady Helen awaits, Your Grace. Though she’s little else to do but fawn over you and hold her nose at the rest of us. You should hurry back.” She placed her foot on the step below, wanting nothing more than to be away from him.

“It’s barely been a week since I was last between your thighs,” Hartwood growled, each word vibrating with anger. “Is Shaddick already your lover? How many others are there?”

Celia flinched. Why didn’t he just toss her down the stairs? It would hurt far less.

“You sanctimonious prig,” she stated in a quiet tone. “You bloody hypocrite.”

“Answer the question,” he stated coldly.

This was what Hartwood really thought of her. Just now, Celia wished one of her ridiculous pillows had smothered him in his sleep. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

“You’ve had more lovers than I can count,” he sneered, stopping her. “Half of London.” His features were rigid. Unflinching. “Were you even faithful to me?”

The palm of her hand slapped hard against his cheek, the sound echoing in the silence of the stairs, surprising them both. Pain, the very worst kind, bloomed inside her. The sensation curled around her chest like a corset tied far too tight.

“I’ve had no lover but you,” she hissed, palm stinging. “ Ever . If you weren’t so arrogant, you would have realized that the blood on that towel was not from a few scratches or the size of your— cock —but the piercing of my maidenhead. There has never been anyone else.”

He shook his head, eyes widening at her words. “No—it’s impossible ,” he stuttered. “Why—wouldn’t you tell me? Why?—”

“Was I still a maid? I disgusted Percival so much, he couldn’t bear to touch me. Do you know why he wed me? To win a wager. He was challenged to find the most unsuitable, stupid girl from the country, one whom his family would absolutely despise, and wed her. The purse was rather large, I’m told.”

“Celia—”

“The Barnes family did not disappoint,” her voice raised an octave. “Percival’s abandonment made things that much worse. So I flirted. Danced. Fell in fountains. Encouraged the gossip that said I’d had multiple lovers because it infuriated Claremont and the rest of your ridiculous family. I enjoyed their well-deserved discomfort.” Her chest heaved, sobbing out the hurt trapped inside for so long. “Even my own brother wouldn’t take me back after Percival’s death. No one wants me .” She nearly shouted the words. “Including you.”

“No. That isn’t?— ”

“You didn’t care to have the truth, Your Grace.” She cut him off, not willing to listen to his excuses. “Even when it was presented to you on a towel. Do not dare tell me you wish to be honorable at this late stage. Let me be clear. Even if you would lower yourself, you are the very last man, in England, I wish to be tied to for a lifetime.”

“My autumn.” He reached out for her.

“Don’t call me that. I am not yours.” Celia held up her palm as he advanced. “Get away from me. You only want me now because I’m not the harlot you imagined me to be.”

Hartwood lowered his arm, fingers still reaching for her. “That isn’t—” He choked, anguish coating his words.

Celia shook her head. “I want nothing more to do with anyone bearing the Barnes name. Especially you. Nor do I want to listen to another word coming from your arrogant, overprivileged lips.” Moisture gathered behind her eyes, but Celia absolutely refused to burst into tears. Show any weakness.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she breezed by him. “I am leaving. Please give my apologies to Shaddick.”