Page 8 of Unraveled by the Duke (Scandalous Duchesses #1)

A lexander stood in the hall of Finsbury House, waiting impatiently. He looked around the dusty room critically.

Pale rectangles marked where paintings had hung before being sold.

Empty pedestals had held sculptures, which were also sold to try and pay off his father’s endless debts.

A cook and a maid had been transferred from Cheverton to make the house somewhat livable, but he knew there was a chill to the air that came from long disuse.

I must harden my heart against pity. I cannot help but think that I have been manipulated.

She used a kiss to run away from me. Her family resisted me and couldn’t toss her into my keeping fast enough.

I cannot help but think of what Cornelius Frid stands to gain socially from a connection to a duke.

I must protect myself and my family, and view her as a potential adversary until I know for certain. That extends to her family, too.

There was no doubt in Alexander’s mind that Cornelius would readily agree to his daughter’s marriage. After all, that had been the plan all along. He would put up a show of resistance and then reluctantly agree. That would be confirmation of the conspiracy, in Alexander’s mind.

I must simply hope that Celia’s dowry will be as generous as Lavinia’s would have been. Otherwise, all will be lost.

A creak on the stairs drew his attention, and he turned, expecting to see his betrothed descending. But it was simply Peggy, the gray-haired and sour-faced maid he had assigned to Celia. She curtsied after reaching the bottom of the stairs, and Alexander acknowledged her with a nod and a smile.

Good old Peggy. I remember her sneaking me biscuits under the cook’s nose when I was a boy. Looks like a battle-axe but with a heart of gold.

He looked away, moving to a cracked window and staring out across peaceful fields towards Finsbury Village, London rising beyond it, a dark and smoky mass.

His mind returned to the sylvan haven of the willow tree in the St James’ churchyard.

Of the feel and taste of Celia’s body. If ever there was a place to indulge in the worship of each other’s bodies, then surely consecrated ground was it.

Alexander smiled at his casual blasphemy. The illusion of the careless rake would become reality if he voiced such thoughts. So caught up was he in his reverie that he did not hear the creak on the staircase a second time.

“I am ready,” Celia announced.

Alexander spun around.

She stood at the foot of the stairs, wearing a dress lighter in color than yesterday.

It was pale blue and suited her complexion and coloring.

Her hair was pinned atop her head, leaving her graceful neck bare.

Alexander’s eyes moved to the pale, delicate skin there, wanting to gently put his lips on it and feel her pulse.

It looked so soft and perfect that the urge to touch her was almost overwhelming.

“Then let us be away,” he said, turning without offering his arm.

Be strong. Remember who she is and what she is about.

His sole remaining carriage awaited them. The footman handed Celia inside, and Alexander followed.

“Vauxhall Gardens, please, Davies,” Alexander ordered.

“Not Banfield?” Celia asked.

“Your father has communicated that he is otherwise engaged for the rest of the week and will not see me at his home. He has kindly offered to spare me some time this morning at Vauxhall,” Alexander replied coldly.

“I suppose it gives us a chance to be seen publicly, which will begin to quell the gossip.”

“He is angry. At both of us. But he sees the sense in what you are proposing. I presume you have broached the subject with him?” Celia asked.

“By letter, yes. What is that perfume? It is intensely irritating.” Alexander scrunched up his face.

Celia patted her neck, where she had clearly dabbed the perfume. “A present from my mother. I have little of it left, so I will not inflict it on you again. If we are to present ourselves as a couple, you had better not act like a bear with a sore head.”

Alexander irritably pulled the cord that allowed the window pane to drop, letting air flow more freely into the carriage. In truth, he found her perfume alluring and quite intoxicating, but he was trying hard to resist her feminine charms.

“I do not like being trapped or pushed into a situation,” he grumbled.

“Nor do I. But we are where we are, and must make the best of it. Is that not so?”

“If you were meeker and spoke when you are spoken to, it would be easier,” Alexander said cruelly.

“Alas, meekness has never been one of my virtues,” Celia drawled, folding her arms and gazing out of the window at the increasing urban clutter of London.

Alexander glanced at her, but his eyes eventually lingered. Her profile reflected nobility and strength. Her neck was swan-like and fragile, her breasts round and full. He looked away when his gaze reached her hips.

Her thighs and hips felt exactly as they should. The kind of hips made for childbearing, and thighs that are shapely and feminine.

He began counting in his head the debts and the interest on those debts against his assets and the assets he would acquire once they were wed. It focused his mind, removing the distraction of the beautiful, infuriating, challenging, fierce woman he had become involved with.

The classical columns of Vauxhall Gardens’ entrance were wrapped in climbing flowers and gleamed white in the unadulterated sunshine. The grass framing the wide boulevards was vibrant and bedecked with strolling lords and ladies. In some cases, they sat on blankets or small stools.

The air was heavy with flirtation and pollen, the low buzz of conversation mingling with the drunken buzz of bees. As Alexander disembarked, he turned and offered his hand to Celia. She took it and then his arm when proffered.

“Let us find your parents, shall we?” he said with a smile.

“Indeed. And seem to at least be enjoying the gardens as much as everyone else,” Celia replied with a bright, happy grin.

They moved down a broad boulevard lined with trees and elaborate oriental pagodas. Dozens of ladies, gentlemen, and commoners moved around them like shoals of brightly colored fish.

Celia laughed delicately as though responding to his jokes, and she smiled and said good morning to all who caught her eye. Alexander had to admit he was impressed with her performance and effort.

It is in her interests, after all. I will not allow a quick tumble to color my views, though. A slender, beautiful body will not sway me.

“Good morning to you, and what a handsome couple you make!” greeted an elderly gentleman while doffing his hat.

“Thank you for the compliment, Sir,” Celia replied, smiling prettily. “And it is a fine morning to be out of doors and making new friends, is it not?”

“Indeed. What a marvelous notion. I am Sir Edmund Knightley, by the way.”

“Lady Celia Frid, and this is my intended, His Grace the Duke of Cheverton. I say that is a marvelous buttonhole, Sir Edmund.”

Sir Edmund held up his lapel, looking sheepish. “I picked it from a flower bed over there. Do not tell anyone, or else the authorities will ban me—this is quite my favorite walk in London.”

There was a mischievous glint in the old man’s eyes as he spoke. Alexander found himself warming up to him and saw a natural talent in Celia for putting people at ease.

A useful skill for a manipulator. Possibly.

That thought soured the good feeling that had begun to spread through him.

They took their leave of Sir Edmund and walked on. Celia was as bright as the sunshine, leaving smiles in her wake. Alexander, by contrast, felt like a storm cloud.

“Clearly, the rumors have not yet reached this side of the river,” he commented. “No one you have introduced yourself to seemed perturbed.”

“I was thinking that myself,” Celia admitted. “I did not expect to be driven out by a mob waving pitchforks, but I thought the reception would be cooler. Perhaps the scandal is not as bad as we thought?”

Alexander pursed his lips. “That would be contrary to all expectations of how the ton functions. I think it is merely that the gossip has not caught on yet. It will spread with the right gust of wind, like wildfire.”

They turned onto another avenue, passing beneath a ceremonial arch, brightly painted and fancifully carved. Trees marched in ranks on either side, planted in precise squares.

“Then we must be ready to fight that fire when it ignites. It has been four days since the Larcher ball. I imagine the gossips will be hard at work,” Celia said.

“And any history either of us has will be examined in great detail and embellished,” Alexander sighed. “I think it would be preferable all round to live as a hermit in some lonely place. The Scottish Highlands, perhaps.”

“There are islands off the west coast of Scotland that are deserted, so I understand,” Celia said.

“Sounds like heaven,” Alexander replied.

He stiffened, realizing that he was not only engaging in conversation with Celia but also agreeing with her.

“We have something in common,” Celia noted, looking up at him.

Alexander grunted and did not reply.

“Where is your dratted family?” he demanded, looking everywhere but at her.

“Let us look down there. Papa is likely to seek out seating where he can have tea and be at ease.”

Alexander quickened his pace in the direction Celia had indicated.

A square of trees surrounded an open grassy space filled with white, wrought iron tables and chairs. A brick building set against a tall wall produced a string of black-and-white-clad servants bearing trays of tea and food out to people seated at the tables.

He picked out Cornelius Frid easily, seated on the periphery of the tables and chairs. His wife was there with him, as was a young girl whom he assumed to be another daughter.

As he approached, Lavinia appeared, carrying a cup of tea on a saucer, and took a seat next to Lady Scovell. She looked at Alexander, smiling sweetly and sipping from her cup.