Page 25 of Unraveled by the Duke (Scandalous Duchesses #1)

“ I do wish Aurelia could have accompanied us,” Celia said.

Seated next to her in the carriage, Alexander grunted. “It is best that she does not. It’s been barely a day and a night since the scandal. Give the dust time to settle.”

He glanced at her, wondering if she was worrying about her sister, alone at Finsbury House. She looked back at him, and he felt the familiar frisson he experienced whenever her eyes landed on him.

By God, but I must get a grip on myself. Since when did a pretty pair of eyes unman me? I do not desire attachment.

“I do not like leaving her alone after such an event,” Celia sighed.

“This is the opening night of this particular play. Most of the ton will be attending. We must be seen together for this charade to be worthwhile for the sacrifice we are making. Aurelia is safe at Finsbury,” Alexander assured her.

“Safe, but it is a dark, neglected place. Safe but not comfortable,” Celia pointed out.

“She is an adult, and if she is able to attend Almack’s, then she can endure an evening of reading or needlepoint. You make Finsbury House sound like Newgate Prison.”

He was annoyed, but it stemmed from guilt. He had avoided thinking of Finsbury House, the original Cheverton Estate, because the memories were painful. Memories of happy times with his mother. Even now, he walled off thoughts of the place, not wanting to contemplate what he had lost.

“You would defend Hyacinth and Violet and feel protective over them. Is there a reason you object to my feeling the same for my sister?” Celia asked.

Alexander looked at her before he could stop himself.

She is so beautiful. That face, so perfect, the paragon of femininity. And behind the innocence of her face lies an unrivaled passion. I had firsthand experience with it.

“No, I would not deny you the right to care for your sister’s welfare,” he said. “I would have done the same for Hyacinth. Let us talk about something else, shall we?”

Celia smiled. It was a secretive smile that tugged at the corners of her pouty lips. Alexander watched those lips before tearing his eyes away, seeking the solace of the city passing by.

“I visited the Theatre Royal before, but never as a spectator,” Celia admitted.

Alexander could not suppress his curiosity at the cryptic comment.

“How else could you have visited? Are you saying you were an actress?”

The idea was shocking. It was hardly a reputable activity for a gently bred lady. But neither was disguising oneself as a man and mixing with the commoners of London. Shocking, but also arousing.

The implication of a wild side to Celia was intensely exciting.

“I infiltrated the establishment in disguise. Once as a chimney sweep and once as a stage hand. I’ve watched plays from atop the gantry that holds the curtains and from the wings, but never from a seat.”

The notion of her smearing her face with soot to pass as a chimney sweep struck Alexander as comical. He smiled before he could stop himself, and she smiled in return.

“Which part did you find most amusing?” she asked.

“That you disguised yourself as a chimney sweep,” Alexander admitted.

“I almost ended up climbing a chimney before I was able to make my escape,” Celia said. “I was chased halfway to Hyde Park by the stewards.”

Alexander laughed aloud, throwing his head back. For a moment, he let the absurdity of the vision override his self-control and undermine his fortifications.

“I believe I have earned reciprocation. I have regaled you with an absurd adventure of mine. As a rake and a wastrel, you must have many adventures to relate. Tell me. A story for a story,” Celia demanded.

Alexander sobered up.

What to say? It should be easy enough to spin a yarn. She will not know that it is not true. Except, she is very sharp. She might deduce that I am not the rake my carefully nurtured reputation suggests.

“Such stories are not something to be proud of,” he said, eventually.

“I do not ask for scandal or titillation, merely entertainment.”

“I have no tales of that nature.”

He glanced at her and saw a frown of contemplation.

She knows I know a man who can manage reputations within the ton. Will she deduce that such a man might have been used to create a false reputation for me? It is a small step from such a deduction to discovering the truth I am trying to conceal.

He sighed. “We will be there shortly. But, since you have asked for a tale, I will tell you of a Frost Fair I attended with my good friend Maxwell Turney, the Duke of Larcher. He wished to romance a young lady, but she would not promenade with him unless her friend was accommodated. I was persuaded to entertain her friend. We walked among the fair and decided to try our hand at ice skating when we were assaulted by a group of young ruffians with snowballs.”

“Oh my!” Celia said, smiling.

“Ambushed, by God. Half a dozen of them, at least. Before we knew what was happening, Maxwell’s hat was off, and the young ladies were sporting three or four direct hits each.

They wished to leave, but Maxwell and I felt we could not quit the field to such knavery.

We resolved to fight, thinking ourselves equal to the task of a half dozen with the tallest no more than four feet. ”

Celia laughed aloud. “They were children? I thought you meant a group of local youths.”

“No, they were children, and honor demanded that we, as gentlemen, teach them a lesson. But the rogues had the advantage of practice and, as we learned to our dismay, reinforcements. We were soon surrounded and heavily outnumbered. That’s when I had the idea of bribing our way out.

Maxwell looked at me and said, ‘Larchers do not retreat or surrender. I will fight on till the end.’ Then, he charged.

Took a snowball to the face, lost his footing, and ended up on his back.

I leaped to his defense and hurtled past, my shoes not proper for traction on the ice.

I got clouted by a tree branch and ended up face down in a snow drift.

Minus my pocket watch by the time I extricated myself. ”

He grinned at the memory and Celia’s laughter. There were tears of mirth in her eyes.

“The very idea of such a dignified man losing control because of a pack of feral children. Oh my, but that has tickled me!” Celia tittered.

Alexander’s smile widened, and then a chortle shook his shoulders.

By the time the carriage drew to a stop outside the Theatre Royal, they were both laughing uncontrollably, one person’s mirth feeding the other’s. Alexander disembarked first and offered his hand to Celia. Passersby and other theater patrons looked at the smiling couple.

Some of them possibly know our names just by looking at us. Well, this has done our cause some good.

He offered his arm as would be expected from a husband escorting his wife to the theater. Celia took it, resting her hand lightly on his forearm. That contact was enough to set his pulse racing.

That, in turn, sobered him. It reminded him of how intimate they had been, how close they had become, even if only physically. He considered where such things could lead.

That is not a path I wish to tread. My father was destroyed by the death of my mother. Violet was devastated by the death of my father. I will not risk such vulnerability. Hang it all, I am the master of my desires. She is not so beautiful that I cannot control myself.

“You have become serious again. How mercurial you are,” Celia commented.

“How mocking you can be,” Alexander said with deliberate coolness.

“Ah, so you feel emasculated because you related an anecdote about two grown men playing with children? Perhaps you should have related a story of one of your victories at Loo. What did the two young ladies make of your battle?”

“I do not know. By the time we had extricated ourselves from the snow, they had departed,” Alexander admitted.

They were walking through the grand lobby of the theater, nodding to those whose eyes they caught and exchanging pleasantries. Celia took out her fan and promptly snapped it open. Behind the fluttering, he could see her rebellious mouth twitching.

“I am beginning to regret being so open,” he grumbled.

“Not at all,” Celia said through giggles, “General.”

Alexander shot her a look, feeling his own laughter threatening to break through his defenses. Her laughter was so melodic, so free and easy. It was infectious.

Nothing about Celia seemed forced or put on for effect. Everything was natural.

He suddenly caught sight of her neck as a lock of hair was swept to the side with a flick of her head. There, behind her ear, was a mark, red and round. His eyes widened, and she caught the reaction.

“Whatever is the matter?” she asked.

“I have just seen a… stamp that I put on you without realizing it. Some men would call it a badge of ownership.”

Celia’s face turned scarlet, and she clapped a hand to her neck, her eyes going wide. Alexander smiled, feeling that for once he had the upper hand. He guided the hand that held her fan so that it covered the mark.

“A mark of ownership?” Celia whispered. “I’ve never heard of it.”

Alexander guided her towards the door that would lead them up to the boxes on the east side of the auditorium.

“Well, it is a common enough expression among rakes like me,” he said.

“I cannot believe you left a visible mark on me,” she muttered as a door opened, and they found themselves walking along a carpeted corridor.

The walls were covered with framed playbills of previous performances, some cracked and ancient as papyrus in their appearance.

“Now that I think of it, there may be others,” Alexander added, enjoying the outrage he was causing. “Just not so visible.”

“Then you should not be speaking of them in public,” she hissed, looking behind them, where the door had been opened again to admit another couple.

Alexander grinned, beginning to enjoy himself.