Page 11 of Unraveled by the Duke (Scandalous Duchesses #1)

“ A re we returning to Finsbury, Your Grace?” Celia asked as the carriage bearing her and Alexander rumbled out of Cheverton Estate. “A honeymoon, perhaps?”

“You will return to Finsbury, and I will reside at Cheverton,” Alexander answered shortly, looking out the window. “And kindly call me Alexander. You are, technically, my wife.”

“It is the technical part that holds me back, Your Grace. If there is to be nothing between us but the illusion we maintain for everyone else, then I would as soon not pretend to be closer than we are.”

Alexander looked at her, and the directness of his blue-eyed stare made her shiver. It reminded her vividly of the kisses they had shared. She felt naked under that stare, with no secrets that could possibly be held back.

She looked back defiantly and saw the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. Barely glimpsed, it vanished almost immediately.

“Very well, Lady Celia.”

“Your Grace, is it not?” Celia spoke quickly.

His eyebrows drew down, as though being interrupted had sparked his anger.

Celia felt a thrill of fear at the notion. Alexander’s presence could not be ignored, especially in the confines of the carriage.

I will not be intimidated. I have done nothing wrong, and only one or two things that were ill-judged. I will not be punished. Why is he so cold and suspicious?

“Very well, Your Grace. I will use your title, and you use mine, and I’m sure that will lead to a harmonious and relaxed life for us both,” Alexander said sarcastically.

“But I will be living alone while you reside in Cheverton, so it is academic,” Celia said.

“Quite right. We will, however, be seen in public together, and it may arouse suspicion if we are so formal,” Alexander pointed out.

They were heading east, the mid-morning sun bright as it circled over the river to the south, passing the new Regent’s Park on their way towards Pentonville, Somers Town, and then Finsbury.

Celia did not want the ride to be over, did not want to be left on her own in a strange place among strange servants. But, equally, she did not know how much longer she could stand Alexander’s icy attitude.

He treats me like I am an enemy, and I have done nothing to deserve that.

“You have a point… Alexander. Perhaps I should get used to using your name for that reason. But it would be far easier if I understood why I am being treated so adversarially. It does not seem fair to me.”

Alexander had turned away as she spoke, but now looked at her sharply.

“Fair? What part of this situation do you think is fair to anybody? Least of all me. Before I met you, I was ready to marry Miss Dunnings and secure the money needed to finance Hyacinth’s debut.

In short order, you have ruined my betrothal to Miss Dunnings and replaced her with yourself.

Now, your father demands access to my accounts to verify that the money is not going to be gambled away.

Furthermore, I am told that you were already disgraced by an affair with a commoner. What will be next?”

“That was a lie!” Celia snapped. “I merely wanted to mingle with commoners, to see their lives. A lie was told about me by someone who seeks to tarnish my reputation.”

“Who?” Alexander demanded.

“I will not say,” Celia said.

Alexander sneered, and she threw her hands up.

“Miss Dunnings!” she barked. “She admitted to starting the rumor because I saw her?—”

She clamped her mouth shut, knowing that she had been about to tell Alexander that his former intended had an affair. She did not know what their relationship was like, other than his apparent boredom in Lavinia’s company.

If he has any feelings for her, telling him that I saw her with another man may condemn me as a liar in his eyes. Then, my life will become utterly intolerable.

“Saw what?” Alexander pressed.

“It does not matter,” Celia said weakly. “Suffice to say that Lavinia began to gossip about me having an affair. And it is not true.”

Alexander was quiet for a moment, gazing out of the window. Then, he turned back.

“I have also been the subject of gossip and rumor, and I won’t give it credence. I know firsthand how far from the mark speculation can be. I will take your word on the gossip part. I will even believe that Miss Dunnings started the rumors. She has always struck me as capable of vindictive malice.”

Celia felt a glimmer of hope, but was also resentful of his patronizing admission that he would take her word for one thing and not the others.

The cheek of the man! He is hardly in a position to be judgmental.

“Those in glass houses,” Celia muttered.

“Meaning?” Alexander said sharply.

“Your reputation is far from sparkling.”

Alexander laughed. “Oh, so I am expected to deem your reputation mere gossip, but mine is gospel?”

“I did not say that,” Celia said irritably. “I am merely confused that a man with your reputation is so concerned about honor and integrity.”

Her voice was rising. She fought to control her anger, recognizing that it was the result of Alexander getting under her skin. His eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. She would have assumed he was aroused, had she not known better.

Does he hate me or find me desirable? Is this the prelude to angry words or passionate desire?

In her heart, she wanted it to be the second, wanted the flushed cheeks and parted lips to be expressions of flaming passion.

Wanted his hands on her, his lips on hers.

Wanted his body pressing her back into the seat, hard and insistent.

She knew her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes bright, and her bosom heaving.

Lord, let him see it as anger!

The carriage lurched to a halt, and Alexander was propelled onto her lap.

By pure instinct, she gripped his shoulders and the back of his head.

Only when he looked up moments later did she see how intimate their position was.

His face had been pressed to her womanhood, covered by her skirt and petticoats.

It would have been the work of moments to lift both and press his mouth to her most intimate area.

The idea made her heart race and her chest heave. He sat back, and she lifted her hands with a squeak of embarrassment.

Alexander looked startled by the sudden jolt.

“What are you playing at, man!” he roared to the driver, his eyes never leaving her.

He pushed himself back into his seat as the driver said, “The horse in front of us got free of its harness, Your Grace. The owner was trying to get it back under control. Had to stop to avoid it.”

“Next time, warn us in advance!” Alexander snapped.

“Did that very thing, Your Grace, as soon as I saw the obstruction,” came the reply.

“Don’t talk back to me, man!” Alexander bellowed.

Celia had not heard the driver’s warning, so engrossed had she been arguing with Alexander.

Despite his irritation, Alexander was obviously thinking the same thing. They watched each other warily.

The carriage resumed its journey, and Alexander rose to sit next to Celia instead of opposite, where he might be cast into her lap again if the carriage met an obstruction.

She could feel the warmth of his body next to her. His cologne was something earthy and spicy. It made the butterflies in her stomach flutter; it was so masculine.

If I am to be trapped in a loveless marriage of convenience, then I must destroy the part of myself that craves his touch—or any touch, for that matter.

They arrived at Finsbury House in silence. At some point during the jostling of the carriage, Alexander had ended up pressed against Celia, his arm and shoulder flush against hers. She had not moved, and neither had he, to break this contact. When the carriage stopped, Celia felt a pang of regret.

Alexander opened the carriage door and alighted, turning to offer her his hand. She refused it, stepping down unaided, looking around her at the house that was to be her home, for a while, anyway.

It was as dark as she remembered, a relic of the sixteenth century or even older, showing its age. It had the look of a place alien to warmth or light.

The driver was clambering to the roof of the carriage and untying Celia’s luggage. No servants came out of the house to greet them or help.

“Come, I will show you to your rooms,” Alexander said briskly, striding towards the house.

Was Lavinia treated like this? Did he ever show her warmth? Did he touch and kiss her?

The very idea sent a bolt of envy through Celia. She tried to tell herself that she could not be envious of any woman who had been betrothed to Alexander, but it did not help. She wanted those things from him.

“I can find my way,” she said as she strode past Alexander towards the stairs. “I have been here for a few days now.”

She climbed up the steps, nodding and smiling at Peggy Swinton, who had emerged from the door to the servants’ quarters.

“I shall take tea in my rooms, please, Peggy,” she said.

Peggy glanced at Alexander, who nodded curtly, and then disappeared through the door.

Celia hurried upwards, hearing Alexander following her. She did not stop or look back as she reached the second floor, walked along a dark, dusty hallway, and opened the last door on the left.

There was a large portrait facing the door of a woman in a flowing white dress and dark hair. She looked beautiful and sorrowful. As she had done every time she had passed it, Celia stopped.

“My great-great-grandmother,” Alexander revealed, catching up to her.

Celia jumped, lost in thought. “She was very beautiful, but the artist has captured a melancholy about her that is unusual,” she noted.

“Are people always happy?”

“No. But when portraits are commissioned, it is unusual to accept one that shows such an emotion. Did she have cause to be?”

“I must confess that I do not know,” Alexander answered honestly. “Her name was Margaret Warren, the thirteenth Duchess of Cheverton, and she was, by all accounts, formidable.”

Perhaps there will be a painting of me somewhere in this gloomy prison one day, looking equally miserable .

“Why are you so interested?” Alexander asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Celia threw her hands up in exasperation.

“We are married. I am sorry for the confusion that led to us being found in a compromising position, but it is done now. Neither I nor my family are out to trap you in any way!” she exclaimed.

“And I am interested because it is a painting of great subtlety and skill. I am interested in the art, as it is a passion of my own. Does that satisfy you?”

She did not wait for an answer, but opened the door to the suite of rooms assigned to her and went inside.

Tears stung her eyes. They were born out of frustration as well as unhappiness.

Alexander drew her in even as his attitude repelled her.

She wanted him in a physical, primal way and had been privileged to taste some of that desire with him.

Privileged or cursed because after tasting that forbidden fruit, she was now denied it.

Denied his touch and faced with the very real prospect that he will seek intimacy elsewhere.

She hugged herself as she stood in the middle of the room. A fire had been left blazing merrily in the hearth, but she felt immensely cold. The kind of cold that mere flames could not dispel.

Behind her, she heard Alexander enter the room and close the door softly.

“I am trying to maintain a distance between us because it serves no purpose to invite closeness that will ultimately be frustrated,” he said, stepping closer to her.

“Why must it be frustrated? We are man and wife, are we not?” Celia whispered.

“Not by choice.”

“Does that matter?”

“Yes, I believe it does.”

Celia rounded on him. “Am I to be the only woman the infamous rake does not wish to seduce?” she demanded, her frustration and anger boiling over.

“Am I to be condemned to a life of cold isolation until you are ready to annul our marriage on the grounds of non-consummation. Is that the plan? Wait out the scandal and then discard me?”

Alexander’s face darkened. “Do you wish to be treated so? To be the latest lover of the Duke of Cheverton, from whom the daughters of the gentry are locked away?”

“Yes!”

The word burst out of Celia. It was an involuntary outpouring of desire that had been welling up within her and now demanded release.

Alexander’s eyes widened, and then he moved. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

The air rushed out of her lungs, stolen by the fury of his kiss. She closed her eyes, her arms falling to her sides, rising on her tiptoes.

Every muscle in her body tensed. Her thighs quivered, her back arched, and her neck stretched. A sensation of subdued, building ecstasy bloomed within her, beginning from the very heart of her womanhood and spreading outward like the warmth of a crackling fire.

Alexander’s hands dropped to her waist, and he lifted her with no visible effort, his strong arms enveloping her.

He carried her across the room, but Celia was only aware of it thanks to the motion and then the soft embrace of the bed.

She sank into the layered bedclothes, Alexander’s hard, muscular body pushing her down, pressing against her. She clutched at him, finding use for her arms, which had been as limp as rope. Now, she held him as tightly as he held her.

The hardness of his muscular body thrilled her. It made her think of primitive men like the ravening Vikings or the savage Goths who had broken down the walls of Rome. Like the Romans of antiquity, she could not resist her barbarian conqueror.

His mouth moved from her own to her cheek, lingering there as though to taste her.

Then it trailed to her neck, biting gently but with enough force to make her gasp in pleasure.

His hand, immutable and irresistible as stone, cupped her breast, squeezing and exploring its shape.

The pressure eased, and she felt his fingers tracing its outline, feeling the shape of her nipple through the fabric of her dress.

At that moment, she hated the garment. Hated all clothing that denied her the feel of his hands on her bare skin. She wanted him to rip the dress off her, strip her naked in the most brutal way. She longed for it.

“Is that how you wanted me to behave?” Alexander asked breathlessly, lifting his head to look into her eyes.

Celia wanted to say yes, but stopped herself. They were married, true, but this didn’t feel right. She didn’t want to be his secret lover, hidden away from his family. She wanted to be trusted, to be his partner, not his adversary.

“Very well. In a week from now, we will consummate our marriage. Then, there can be no annulment. We will be husband and wife in truth, not just in name. But for now, I must meet with my solicitor to discuss preparing my accounts for your perusal.”