Page 30 of Unraveled by the Duke (Scandalous Duchesses #1)

C elia had a sense of foreboding as she returned to Finsbury House. Alexander had been quiet during the ride back from Banfield.

The visit to her parents’ house had used up a few hours of the day, and she was desperately trying to think of how she could use up more. But it was difficult.

If Alexander insisted that they go directly to his solicitor’s office, then any attempt to delay would surely be obvious.

What will his reaction be, then? Will it simply drive a wedge between us, or precipitate the end of all of this?

As she entered the house, she spotted the silver tray by the door bearing letters that had arrived since they set out for Banfield that morning.

As expected, the letter on top of the pile was addressed to Alexander. The flowing, elegant script made Celia think of a woman’s hand. Out of curiosity, she picked up the letter and immediately was able to confirm the gender of its author, for a hint of perfume clung to the paper.

She replaced the letter and walked away as she heard Alexander coming through the door behind her.

Her heart was racing. Perhaps the letter was from Lavinia.

Who else would write to Alexander and spray the correspondence with a dose of perfume?

Why would a woman do that if not to entice the man to whom she was writing, to remind him of her perfume, which meant to remind him of a previous intimacy?

“I think I will change. This dress is not suitable for the warmth that the afternoon seems to have brought,” she muttered, heading for the stairs.

“But eminently suitable for a trip to a solicitor’s office to examine a statement of accounts.”

As she stopped, one foot on the stairs and one hand on the banister, she heard the sound of paper sliding against paper. Alexander was flipping through the letters that had been left for his perusal. He grunted as though in surprise, and she heard an envelope being opened.

I do not know. I do not wish to know. I am a wife in name only. What claim do I have on him?

She resumed her ascent. Perhaps he had ignored that letter and opened another. Perhaps that letter would end up, unread, into the fire.

And Lavinia Dunnings will enter a convent!

“Very well. If you think so,” Celia relented.

“Where are you going? We should be on our way while we are dressed for the outdoors,” Alexander said.

Was it her imagination, or did he sound distracted?

Celia risked a look over her shoulder. He was reading intently, and it was the perfumed letter that he held. The others remained on the silver tray. He stood in the middle of the hall, engrossed and frowning as he read.

She felt a chasm open within her. This missive was of some import. A woman who wafted her perfume under his nose to entice and attract him.

She felt sick to her stomach.

“I wish to refresh myself,” she said faintly.

Alexander looked up suddenly. She felt his eyes on her from across the hall, like a physical touch. She could not move under that gaze. She shivered, feeling as though she should writhe under the touch of those eyes. Feeling as though she were being undressed.

“Are you well?” he asked. “You sound… distracted.”

“Quite well,” Celia replied.

Now was the time to ask about the letter, but she was at a loss for words. She opened her mouth to ask, but could not speak. To ask might end the charade and might make Alexander admit that there was another woman he truly wished to marry and that he was merely biding his time until then.

I should not care. I did not seek a husband and did not expect to find love with him. Merely an escape from scandal. Why should I care if he loves another woman?

She turned away, climbing up the stairs with as much dignity as she could muster, hearing him coming after her.

“By the way, your father told me about a fresh scandal. Rumors concerning your time in the country. Did you know?”

She stopped at a bend in the stairs, looking back to where he stood at the foot. The letter hung from his hand. It made her angry.

He cannot even bear to put it down! Why can’t he be honest with me?

Why didn’t he tell me at the beginning so that I could control my feelings?

So that I could build a wall of my own. Damn him!

I gave myself to him! I gave that which a woman can only give once, and he treated me like a common whore!

That sent a thrill from her toes to her hair. A clenching excitement that quickened her breathing. Being treated as a whore. Being used by Alexander for his pleasure. She was reddening—she knew it, and could do nothing about it.

“I see that you did. Ah, I remember your odd behavior this morning. Your rustling dress. I was a fool. Was it a scandal sheet you picked up outside the printer’s shop?”

Celia lifted her chin, enduring her blushes and attempting to face him in as dignified a manner as she could. “Yes. I picked it up from the street when I saw my name in black and white.”

“And concealed it from me. You know, I’m employing a man to manage the scandal involving Aurelia. You did not think it important to tell me of this fresh development?”

He ascended a few steps, and Celia retreated the same number. He stopped.

“I was wary of your reaction,” she said.

“When your father told me that he knew too, my reaction was that I would manage it. You are my wife, and I won’t allow anyone to slander you.”

He advanced again, and Celia withdrew. She found herself wanting to smile.

He defended me! He defended his wife!

“You were not angry?” she asked.

“Of course, I was thoroughly vexed! But not with you. Even before I spoke to your father, I did not need to ask if it was true. I know it is not. Why are you running away from me? Dash it all!”

Celia grinned, relief flooding through her like a cool wave. She danced to the first-floor landing.

Alexander rushed to the top, the letter fluttering from his hand. It drifted over the banister and gently fluttered down the stairwell to settle on the wooden floor of the hall.

“How do you know?” Celia asked. “For all you know, my father is lying to protect my honor. How can you be so certain?”

“Why are you so determined to undermine yourself in my eyes?” Alexander demanded, advancing on her.

Celia had been afraid, wary of his reaction. Now, she was playing a game, testing how far she could push him to pursue her.

If he genuinely does not care, he will give up, damn me for a fool—or worse—and walk away.

“I merely seek to know the depth of your certainty. For my own safety. Am I not entitled to certainty?”

She had reached the door to her rooms and paused with her hand on the knob.

Alexander marched down the hallway with the implacability of a storm-driven wave.

Celia turned the knob, feeling the door give behind her and knowing there was nowhere else to run.

A thrill in her loins made her feel more alive than she ever had, except for the glorious moment when she had lain with Alexander.

When she had lain beneath him, their bodies joined.

“I know, Celia,” he said, drawing close, his voice softening, “because a man cannot help but be aware that the woman with whom he lies has been close to… other men. Or a baby. It irreversibly changes a maiden’s body.”

There was a smile on his lips now, half mocking.

Celia felt her blush deepen. She had forgotten that basic fact of biology and how Alexander had been aware.

“So you do,” she whispered. “Well, I thank you for standing by me.”

He was so close now that she could smell his musky cologne with a hint of spice and wood. With it came a momentary, teasing, half memory of perfume. It was as though the perfumed letter had imprinted itself on his hands, warning her that he belonged to another. It incensed her.

“I will not deny that when I read of it this morning, courtesy of Mr. Wainwright, I considered it an inconvenience. He asked for additional funds to manage this additional gossip for us. Quite inconvenient.”

“I will pay you back,” Celia promised automatically.

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “I do not ask for money,” he said, almost whispering.

“I have nothing else to give,” Celia responded.

Alexander’s eyes left her face to roam down her body.

She felt his lustful eyes on her breasts, her hips.

Knew that he could accurately picture her without her clothes.

See the birthmark on her inner right thigh, the small mole beneath her right breast. He had kissed those blemishes, licked and sucked on them.

He had marked them with his teeth, just as he had her neck.

Celia had discovered that while bathing that morning.

“I disagree,” he said.

He kissed her, and all thoughts fled her mind. From the moment his lips touched hers, she was transported to a world where there were no other people but them. Where there was no scandal or gossip. Where their bodies and the pleasure they could give each other were all that mattered.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding tightly as his arms wound around her waist and lifted her off the floor. His hands gripped her buttocks, squeezing possessively.

The door was flung wide and then kicked shut with a crash as he advanced into the room, with her in his arms. A dam broke within her, one that had been holding back her wanton desire for this man, one that had been cracking and groaning.

She grabbed his hair, pulling it and fastening her mouth on his neck.

“Mark me, will you?” she gasped, biting and driven half-mad with lust at the sound of his moan. “I will mark you so that there is no doubt who owns this body!” she said fiercely.

She tore at his shirt, ripping the seams and exposing his magnificent torso. She dug her nails into those slabs of muscle, she bit and squeezed her thighs around his hips.

He flung her on her bed. She cried out in surprise, and as she bounced, she was met by his body.

It crashed down atop her, pinning her to the mattress, impaling her with his rigid member.

It was still separated from her soft vulnerability by fabric, but he was tearing at her clothes as fervently as she tore at his.

There was naked desperation in their movements, in their quick breaths and flushed faces.

Fabric tore, buttons popped. Skin was exposed for kissing, touching, and moistening.

Each contact coaxed sighs and moans, whispered names and fervent promises, and requests.

Celia was shocked by the words she knew and the ideas she had.

Like when she put her mouth to his ear and begged to be flipped over.

At first, she was face down, then strong hands on her waist pulled her onto all fours.

Like an animal. Like two mating animals. That is what we are. And how I love it!

Her dress was already gone, but he tore at her underclothes now, ripping her petticoats down the back from neck to hips. She didn’t know that he had freed his manhood until she felt it against her buttocks.

He allowed her one brief moment to feel it. Then, with a mighty thrust, he entered her, his member slipping down to her waiting flower and inside with the ease of the most natural of acts.

Celia clung to the sheets so tightly as she bucked against him that they ripped. She felt his lips on her back, her neck as he paused his rhythm. His breath rasped, and he whispered her name over and over.

So laden with lust was that sound that it brought her to the edge of glorious climax.

She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, trying to hold back, not wanting it to end. But when Alexander resumed his thrusts, his hands reaching around to stroke her sensitive nub, she could not hold back the tide.

A heartbeat later, he joined her.