Page 26 of Unraveled by the Duke (Scandalous Duchesses #1)

Perhaps this is the freedom that comes with being a rake. The freedom not to care what anyone thinks. A dangerous freedom to experience. A man could become drunk on it.

They arrived at the door to his box, and he led Celia in.

Beyond the elaborately gilded and ornately carved balcony was the glittering auditorium. It was filling with patrons, the air humming with overlapping conversations. As Alexander took a seat next to Celia, high above, he noticed more than one head turning upward.

They see the newly married Duke and Duchess of Cheverton. They tell their friends. Each look is a drop of water on the flames of gossip and scandal.

He held out his hand and looked at Celia.

“For the benefit of our audience,” he murmured, turning his eyes to the auditorium, “and our illusion.”

She caught his meaning, putting her hand in his and letting their fingers entwine.

Alexander kissed her hand. He found himself savoring the satiny smoothness of her skin, the slenderness of her fingers. She wore no rings, no jewelry of any kind.

She didn’t need it. Her eyes were a greater adornment than anything glittering around the necks or in the hair of the women he had seen so far.

He lowered her hand. She made no move to extricate her fingers from his. Alexander looked straight ahead as the audience took their seats and the curtain rose. He focused his attention on the actors, their words, and their movements.

But the woman next to him had captured all his senses.

He breathed in the delicate, floral scent of her perfume.

He listened to the sound of her breathing while his mind dredged up treacherous memories of her animalistic pants and wanton moans.

While his eyes focused on the stage, his mind focused on the body of the woman who had claimed the title of his wife.

She sat next to him, respectably dressed, while in his mind, she was naked. Pale, soft, feminine skin damp with sweat. Slick and pliant.

His thumb stroked her hand, hungry for the delicacy of her skin. It moved a few inches across her knuckles and then back. She responded by flexing her fingers and tightening them around his.

When the performance was over, they stood up and applauded along with the rest of the audience.

Alexander felt that he and Celia had staged their own private performance in the hours that the actors had pranced and preened.

One to be appreciated by the two of them alone.

He felt as though he were teetering on the edge of a cliff.

The feel of her fingers against his had threatened to send him over that edge.

Perhaps there is nothing wrong with indulging the desires of the flesh as part of this game we play. If it brings the two of us pleasure while we play man and wife.

It would mean becoming the person he had once paid Archibald Wainwright to help him convince the ton he was—a man who indulged in the pleasures of the flesh without love. A rake.

The thought grated on his nerves. It felt wrong, against every principle he had.

“What did you think?” Celia asked.

Alexander realized that he had taken in nothing of the play; he could not even recall the story.

“Interesting,” he said.

“Did you think so?”

“Not at all,” he admitted after a pause. “It didn’t hold my interest.”

“It was tedious, wasn’t it? Would you like to do something that isn’t tedious?”

Alexander raised an eyebrow, and Celia blushed, averting her eyes.

“There is a place not far from here. We will be overdressed compared to most who frequent it, but it is a very nice way to pass a few hours.”

Alexander was intrigued despite himself. “Very well. Would this be one of the discoveries made while incognito on the streets of London?”

“It is. The one and only time I have been out all night. I had the devil of a time sneaking back into the house at dawn.”

They left the theater, proceeding outside in an orderly fashion like all the other patrons. But while they spilled out onto Drury Lane and made for the restaurants, clubs, and coffee houses, Celia and Alexander took his carriage south towards the river.

They stopped at a signal from Celia and alighted on a cobbled canyon running between the blank edifices of towering warehouses.

Everything was black, shutters tightly closed as were the doors, but the raucous music reached them from somewhere close by.

Fiddles, drums, stamped feet, and voices raised in song.

“This way!” Celia took him by the hand and led the way along the street until they came to a narrow alleyway.

There, braziers cast flickering firelight from the road down to the river. The air smelled of roasting meat, sour mud and tar, tobacco, and peat. Men and women whirled in frenetic jigs while fiddles and tin whistles played. People clapped and stamped and drummed.

“Isn’t it joyous! Beats Almack’s any day of the week!” Celia cried, whirling from his hand and into the throng of dancers.

Alexander watched for a moment as she danced. She was a fey spirit. He had never met anyone quite like her.

A sailor, barefoot and bare-chested, was moving towards her, swigging from a large tankard and watching her as intently as Alexander. He reached her and executed a courtly bow, offering his hand.

Alexander felt a growl rising in his chest, a surge of jealousy. He stepped forward as Celia’s eyes flicked from the courteous sailor to him. The sailor looked at Alexander as he caught Celia around the waist. No words were exchanged, but the sailor found another woman to dance with.

“Are you jealous, Alexander?” Celia asked.

“Do not be ridiculous,” Alexander bit out. “I do not want tonight to have been for nothing. I sat through that tedious play to be seen with you in a respectable setting.”

“No one with an important opinion will see us here,” Celia breathed in his ear.