Page 5 of Unraveled by the Duke (Scandalous Duchesses #1)

C elia walked alongside her mother through the grounds of Banfield House. The trees shielded them from the rest of London and the house itself.

In contrast to Celia’s dark mood, the sun shone brightly, and the air thrummed with bird song. It should have been a beautiful day. A day to go over the conversations of the previous evening with Aurelia. To talk about who they had danced with and who had caught their eyes.

Instead, Aurelia had avoided her after being forced to leave the ball early.

“Your father and I are deeply disappointed. You are not a debutante, prone to making mistakes. You are twenty-two years old and expected to avoid such reckless behavior,” Edna scolded.

“I was not frolicking with the Duke for the pleasure of it, Mama. As I tried to tell Papa—” Celia began.

Edna raised a hand, closing her eyes briefly as though in pain. She shook her head. “I defended you after your last act of madness. I told your father not to believe the gossip. That you have the temperament of an artist and, as such, are unpredictable. But now, it seems the gossips were right.”

“No, they are not! I was afraid for my safety. I did not know it was the Duke who was coming through the door. I thought it was the other man. I have told you this!” Celia cried.

“The other man, yes. But Aurelia said this other man is the Viscount Darnleigh, not Captain Goodwood…”

“ Green wood. Lavinia called him Greenwood,” Celia corrected.

“Greenwood, then. She and Lavinia both assured me that you were mistaken and that this man was no threat to you at all. Lavinia said that while she was trying to clean your dress, you ran off to the Duke of Larcher’s bedroom!”

Celia stopped, throwing her hands up. “She is lying, Mama! She admitted to me that I caught her with another man when I saw her three months ago. I recognized that man, and he was intent on obtaining the sketch I made of the two of them—proof of what I have been saying!”

Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. Her mother had always taken her side. They had always been close, more than even Aurelia and the twins, Nora and Louis. Now, the shuttered look on her mother’s face was scaring her.

I will be meek and mild when it comes to my punishment for being caught dressing as a common man and wandering the streets of London. That was dangerous and reckless. But I cannot be meek when it comes to this.

“Mother, please believe me. Lavinia is not at all what she makes herself out to be,” Celia protested.

“Since you went to your aunt and uncle in the country, she has been a friend and mentor to Aurelia. She has invited her to promenades and numerous luncheons. Aurelia has escaped the scandal you caused thanks to her friendship with Lavinia. And how is she repaid for her kindness? By losing her engagement to the Duke of Cheverton. I simply have no words.”

They rounded a bend in the path, descending the stone steps to a pond fed by a brook that bounced its way down alongside the steps.

The air was damp and cool. Ahead of them was the old servants’ quarters, disused since Celia’s grandfather had expanded Banfield House to give the staff a wing of their own.

How can I make them all see? Lavinia is the one who was cheating on her intended. Her lover is the one who frightened me into the Duke of Cheverton’s arms. Lavinia must have run to fetch my father as soon as I escaped. She wanted a witness.

Celia was angry, but her anger was mixed with guilt. Her own actions had led to her current predicament. Had she not seen Lavinia and Greenwood, she would not have recognized him at the ball.

On the other hand, had none of this happened, I would never have experienced the feel of His Grace’s body beneath mine. Pressing against me. Pressing into me…

She blushed, wringing her hands and trying to dislodge the memory of the Duke’s powerful, rigid body. His kisses. The taste of him.

They had reached the door of the old servants’ quarters. It was framed in white plaster and set into red brick. The two stories had small windows under the eaves for the bedrooms. Ivy covered most of them, and moss grew on the tiled roof.

Edna had a long, iron key in her hand.

“Mama, why are we here?” Celia asked.

“Your father…” Edna stopped, clearing her throat, and Celia saw the tears in her eyes.

“He does not wish to see you in the house. Colonel Savage has withdrawn his proposal and has very scathingly expressed his view of our family and our… morals. Your father is writing to Uncle Cuthbert to see whether he and my sister can house you. Permanently. In the meantime, I’m afraid you will have to reside here. ”

“Under lock and key? A prisoner?” Celia exclaimed.

“Of course not, child,” Edna snapped. “It is for your own good. Until you have shown you can exercise restraint and self-control. I will persuade Aurelia to come and keep you company. She will forgive you, I am sure.”

Celia stared at her mother for a long moment as the door creaked open. Then, she nodded, steeling herself. “If it must be so.”

She strode into the house with her chin held high, determined to show as much dignity as she could.

Three days passed during which Celia did not leave the house. Aurelia did not visit, but her mother did, and she had brought her drawing implements and paper.

Celia passed the time drawing the birds and animals she observed in the gardens. Or Nora and Louis, who came to the window to talk to her, joyfully unaware of the disgrace she had brought upon their family once again.

More than once, she spotted Lavinia walking in the gardens with Aurelia and looked away, unable to bear the sight.

When she saw her father, he was angry. When she heard his voice in the distance, it was shouting and arguing with her mother.

She was afraid of his anger, butt it also made her resentful.

She was innocent. She had been afraid and then relieved to be safe. It had led to a moment of sheer madness.

How can someone be pilloried for a moment of madness when they were not in control of their actions?

She tried to keep herself occupied with drawing or reading the books her mother and the twins brought her.

The evenings were the worst. She dined alone while the sound of the pianoforte drifted down to her from the dining room windows, which were always open on summer evenings.

Evenings were when loneliness and despair threatened to overwhelm her.

On the third evening, she lay on the bed she had chosen. It was in a small room facing away from Banfield House, towards the trees and tall wall that marked the boundary of the property. She drew the blankets up to her chin and blew out the candle on the windowsill.

A moment later, a sharp crack came from outside, as if something had just struck the window pane.

Celia looked up. The sound came again. This time, she saw the small black shape that made it. Someone had thrown a stone at her window.

Thinking it some mischief of the twins, she went to the window and hauled it up, looking out and down. It was not the twins. Below stood the Duke of Cheverton, cloaked in black, his hood drawn up.

As he looked up at the window in the moonlight, she could see his face clearly. For a moment, she stared.

It was like looking into the face of David. Beautiful but with the hard cruelty of stone. Unyielding with high cheekbones and slightly slanted eyes. He could have been an eastern prince. A savage warlord from distant lands.

Celia had to swallow before she could speak; her mouth was dry, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Trying to speak to you,” he replied.

“Did you try the door?”

“It is locked. Could you perhaps unlock it?”

Celia was reluctant to admit that she was a prisoner. Besides, she did not think it would be sensible to allow this man into the house, with her alone.

Because of the risk of being caught together once more? Or the risk that I might lose my self-control again?

The idea sent shivers of anticipation through her. She tried to focus on her anger at his unexpected appearance instead.

“It is the middle of the night, and you should not be here!” she hissed.

“I must talk to you. I have tried to talk to that obstinate father of yours, but every time I am told that he is indisposed. I do not believe that he is, but I can hardly challenge it!”

Celia shushed him furiously. “What could you possibly want to discuss with me?”

“What do you think?” Alexander huffed, exasperated. “May I remind you that I was an engaged man until I met you. Now, my engagement has been broken off, and gossip flows around me like the Thames. And just as poisonous. And you are to blame.”

“I was terrified!” Celia protested. “And you did not protest. In fact, I think you kissed me.”

“It was the other way around, I assure you,” Alexander said wryly.

Celia gritted her teeth against a flare of irritation. His tone implied that he could not possibly have been tempted to initiate the kiss.

“Why were you terrified? Of whom?” Alexander asked after a pause, as though his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

“I do not want to discuss it,” Celia muttered, making to close the window.

“Wait!” Alexander called out, far too loudly.

Again, Celia shushed him.

“Are you mad or just drunk?” she hissed.

“A little of the second,” Alexander admitted with a sudden grin.

Celia threw her hands up in exasperation, even as she noticed how his face transformed when he smiled. Even in the darkness, she could see how those hard lines melted away and how his cold, aloof eyes warmed with mirth.

“You have caused me enough trouble already…” Celia began.

“ I have caused you? That is rich, Lady Celia. It is you who have caused the trouble and I who has the solution. The only solution to this situation. But your father will not see me, and you will not let me in. It is as though your family likes scandal.”

“Of course, we do not like scandal. Do you think I asked to be locked away by my father, lest I bring further disgrace to my name?” Celia scoffed, incredulous.

“Then discuss it with me while shouting through a window, or let me in to discuss the situation like adults.” Alexander ran his hands through his long hair, looking at the sky in exasperation.

Celia rested her head on her hands atop the windowsill. What he was saying made sense.

But he is a rake and a scoundrel. That is what Aurelia has heard of him. Even I know the name, and I pay no attention to gossip columns.

“I cannot—” she began.

“For God’s Sake, woman!” Alexander roared.

“I cannot because I do not have the key!” Celia spoke over him.

Alexander stopped, gaping at her for a moment. “You are locked away. Literally.”

Humiliated, Celia nodded silently.

Alexander looked up at the window, his eyes narrowed. Then, he started forward, seized a handful of climbing ivy, and hauled himself up the wall.

Celia stepped back, at a loss for words as he drew closer. When he reached the window, he vaulted the sill and landed, catlike, on the floor inside. Celia backed away, tugging a blanket from the bed and wrapping herself in it.

Alexander straightened, looking around. “This looks like a nun’s cell. Or a servant’s room.”

“The second,” Celia replied. “These used to be the servants’ quarters.”

“And your father has imprisoned you in this derelict building because of what happened at the Larcher ball?”

“And another matter,” Celia said quietly.

She felt intimidated by his physical presence in the small room. He tossed his head, and his hair brushed his shoulders.

A barbarian prince. Strong, unyielding as stone, and primitive as a pagan.

She knew she should demand that he leave until she was decent. Should not be alone with him at night in her bedroom. But at that moment, she didn’t care.

Her heart was racing. He was infuriating and exciting in equal measure. Frightening and thrilling. She hoped that the dark didn’t reveal the heat she felt in her face and that the blanket was enough to conceal the tremors in her knees.

“And that is?” he prompted.

So arrogant. As though he deserves an answer. He needs to learn that he does not get answers by demanding.

“That is my business. I do not see what value the information can be to you,” Celia said coolly.

“Very well. You want to be out of this damned, damp house?”

Celia nodded.

“You want to preserve your family’s name?”

“Of course. What are you proposing?” Celia asked impatiently.

“Marriage. The only respectable solution. If we marry, then the scandal will die out in a short time without the additional speculation and gossip. If we are married, there is no chance of eloping or having relations out of wedlock. Therefore, there is no scandal. Marry me, Lady Celia, and save yourself and your family.”