Celia took a deep breath of relief. Her mother took a deep breath of outrage. “What?”
“He is honest,” David repeated. “Although not always to people who are not honest with him. If you ask him a direct question, he’ll answer in kind. Oddly enough, he’s a quiet chap. Keeps his own counsel most of the time, but I expect that’ll be because his father tossed him out when he was fifteen. He’s bloody brilliant with money. Once he got enough to do something, his fortune was made.”
“What about the gambling?” Rosalind cried. “The debts?”
David looked abashed. “He was no worse than I, Rosalind. Had much better luck at it, too. I believe the debts sprang from investments that took some time to prosper. I’ll tell you this: if ever I needed to turn one hundred pounds into five hundred, I’d give the whole sum into his hands without hesitation.”
“He is not respectable.” Rosalind drew herself up as if this were the last word. “You can’t deny that.”
David shrugged. “What is respectability? It’s not his fault the gossips latched onto him at an early age.”
“His actions—” began his stepmother.
“Rosalind, he’s a decent fellow,” David repeated. “I don’t know why the gossips made such hay over him. I’ve never known him to lie, to cheat, or to abuse a confidence. Nor has he ever trifled with a lady; if he’s offered for Celia, he must be mad for her.”
A quiet glow of delight suffused Celia at her brother’s words. She beamed at him, and he gave her a wry look in reply.
“Then why did you strike him the other night?” Rosalind looked anguished. David’s grin disappeared and he cleared his throat.
“Ah—that. I was surprised and acted rashly.”
Rosalind closed her eyes in defeat. Celia bit the inside of her lip to hide her delight.
“Dearest,” said Rosalind one more time. “Are you truly certain? This is marriage. It is the rest of your life, Celia.”
“I know, Mama. And I am certain.”
Her mother stared at her for a long moment with worried eyes. Then she mustered a smile more tragic than joyful. “Then I shall make the arrangements.”
Celia threw her arms around her mother. “Thank you, Mama.”
Rosalind’s arms about her tightened. She drew in a deep breath, compressing her lips into a tight line as if to bite back any more argument. “I only want you to be happy.” Her voice wobbled.
Celia nodded. “I will be.”
Walking a bit stiffly, Rosalind excused herself. Celia turned to her brother when she was gone. “Thank you, David.”
He leaned back, crossing his arms. “If he puts so much as a toe out of line, I’m thrashing him senseless.”
She bristled. “You just said he’s a decent fellow!”
“He is,” David said. “Most of the time. I know things about him you should never suspect.”
“I expect he knows things about you that you’d prefer no one else knew, too.” She smiled sweetly at his scowl. “And if you interfere in my marriage, I’ll find out, and I’ll tell Vivian.”
“Vivian trusts me.”
“And I trust Anthony. We should have no worries, then, either of us.” David just looked at the ceiling. Celia lowered her voice and stepped closer. “After all, I know how he wins at cards all the time. I daresay you don’t.”
Interest sparked in her brother’s face. “Oh? How?”
“It’s not cheating, it’s just a natural talent he has.” She sighed dramatically as David’s face darkened again. “One you must certainly lack.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ve mostly given up cards.” David started toward the door, then swung around. “Is it something one can learn?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Hmph. I’ve wondered for years,” he muttered. “It’s unnatural.”
Celia just grinned. “Thank you for reassuring Mama, David.”
He sighed, finally pulling her into his arms. “It was the least I could do,” he said, “since your betrothed is undergoing the Exeter inquisition as we speak. Not quite sporting to put the fellow through that and then let Rosalind scotch the works.”
She gasped. “What? Marcus wouldn’t—”
David laughed as she rushed for the door. “Oh, Marcus would!”
Anthony had never been so glad in all his life for an expansive memory as he was that morning, as the duke of Exeter asked question after question after question of him. He had gone to make certain the duke wouldn’t prohibit him from marrying Celia. She was a widow, but she was also the duke’s younger sister, and Exeter was known to be protective of his family. The last thing Anthony wanted to do was make a muck of things by being careless or foolish, and not paying proper respectful deference to the duke would be very foolish and extremely careless.
Exeter had been waiting for him. Celia had already told him the news. Anthony searched for any sign, any hint of what his response to her had been, but there was nothing. The man had a face like marble. Anthony unconsciously assumed his own mask, bracing himself.
The duke knew more about him than Anthony had suspected. His questions probed into areas of his life that Anthony had felt were very discreet. Still, this was the price he must pay to marry Celia, so he answered with unflinching candor. From time to time the duke would incline his head ever so slightly, but that was the only encouragement he received.
When he was beginning to think he had shared every detail of his life he could remember, there was a rapid knocking on the door, then it flew open. “What is going on?” demanded Celia, out of breath and flushed.
Exeter got to his feet, as did Anthony. “We are getting acquainted, since we are to be family.”
She shot a questioning glance at Anthony, who gave her a small, hopeful nod. Her face lit up. “Then you didn’t—you haven’t—?”
The duke smiled, coming around his desk. “You’re babbling, Celia.” She blushed. “I wish you both much joy.”
“Thank you, Marcus.” She went up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “David said you were giving him an inquisition.”
Subdued amusement lit the duke’s dark eyes. “Not at all. It was all quite cordial.”
Anthony thought that he’d rather not discover the duke’s unfriendly side, if that were a cordial conversation, but then Celia turned to him, her face glowing. “Then everything is settled?”
He couldn’t help grinning like a fool. “Yes, I believe so.” Exeter said nothing to contradict him, and Anthony’s grin grew a little wider. “It is,” he repeated more definitely.
She beamed back at him. “I shall go tell Mama. Thank you, Marcus. You must know your approval will be a great comfort to Mama.”
He just chuckled, and Celia hurried out the door ahead of them. Exeter put his head to one side, watching his sister go. “I’ve not seen her this happy in years. Perhaps never.”
“I shall do everything in my power to protect her happiness,” said Anthony gravely.
Exeter glanced at him. He gave a suddenly open grin. “Oh, no need for that. I shan’t take your head off. You’ll answer to Celia from now on, not to me.”
“Ah…right.” Anthony still remembered how quickly David, his supposed friend, had charged at him. “Of course.”
The duke shook his head, still grinning. “David feels the same. Come. Luncheon awaits.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The duke announced their engagement at dinner that evening. David Reece was the first on his feet to propose a toast to the new couple, and Percy seconded it. Everyone raised their glasses quickly, as if they had been expecting such a thing for some time and were glad to have it out in the open. The announcement seemed, in a way, to release the tension in the party, as if the normal order of things had now been righted and the little scandal in the library had been put to rest. The conversation flowed more easily that night after the ladies left, and Anthony felt completely at ease for the first time as the other men congratulated him.
Excep
t Ned, that is. He drank more port than anyone else but said the least. Anthony remembered their conversation by the stream and wondered just how strongly Ned had hoped to wed Celia himself. He had never seen the slightest preference for Ned in her behavior, but perhaps Ned had seen things differently. And of course, were their positions reversed, and Ned were receiving congratulations on his upcoming marriage to Celia…Well, one bottle of port probably wouldn’t have been enough for Anthony in that event.
“Well done, lad, well done!” Warfield slapped him on the back as the men moved to join the ladies in the drawing room, and they had a moment to speak quietly. “And the lady looks as happy as a bride ought to look.”
Anthony smiled. “I intend to keep her so.”
His uncle laughed. “No doubt! And you never fail in what you set out to do; damned admirable, I say. May you and your wife enjoy a long and happy life together.”
Anthony nodded in thanks and in doing so caught sight of Ned. Ned was watching them, his face set, and when Anthony met his gaze, he turned on his heel and left the room. Anthony’s grin faded.
Warfield noticed and frowned after Ned. “A bit disappointed, that one.”
“Yes.”
“Well, he’ll get over it. ’Tis clear her heart was never engaged there, and his disappointment is more for the match than for the lady.”
“Of course,” Anthony murmured.
“Shall we join the ladies?” Warfield asked with a gleam in his eye. “I like to see the way her eyes light up when you come into the room.” Anthony shot him a quizzical look, and Warfield laughed heartily. “Oh, Lord, boy, to see your face! Aye, it’s true, and you’d notice if you weren’t so busy trying not to stare at her like a hungry dog after a meaty bone.”
“A mutt and a bone,” said Anthony wryly. “You flatter us both. I shall gladly leave you at the door for better company.”
“That you shall, my lad.” With another slap on the shoulder, they followed the rest of the gentlemen.
That night Anthony felt almost a part of the family. A spirited game of charades left the company in gales of laughter, especially after Mrs. Percy called her husband an elephant when he was attempting to be a Roman general and he in turn called her a whirlwind when she was portraying the Three Fates. Celia sat beside Anthony on the sofa, where he could touch her hand discreetly from time to time to make her cheeks turn pink. And at the end of the evening, they managed to walk more slowly than anyone else up the stairs, until they were quite alone in the corridor.
“Good night, my darling,” he whispered, pulling her close outside her door.
“And to you.” She raised her face to him, a dreamy smile on her lips. Anthony kissed her, lightly, then deeply, until she was clinging to him breathlessly and he had to brace one hand against the wall. “Come to me later,” she whispered, her eyes glowing and her breathing rapid.
He touched her lower lip. “No.” And kissed her again.
“Why not?” She moved against him, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Anthony chuckled and trailed one hand down her back until she arched, pressing her breasts against him.
“We’re going to wait,” he murmured in her ear, still stroking her back. “Until our wedding night. And then I shall have my wicked way with you all night long, until you cannot breathe or speak properly. You’d best get your rest now, my lady.”
“What shall you do?” Celia’s voice was husky with desire. He laughed again, even more softly, and she shivered. They were standing in the corridor, where anyone might walk by and see them wrapped around each other, but Celia didn’t care a bit.
“I plan to tie you to my bed,” came his dark, seductive voice in her ear, his breath on her neck sending shivers down her spine.
“You won’t need to,” she told him. Her knees were already weak.
“But I want to.” He brushed his lips across the rapid pulse below her jaw, and Celia’s breath came out in a sigh of want. “I want to taste every inch of you, from every angle. I want to make you weep with need, and then I want to satisfy that need until you can’t even beg for more.”
Celia moaned. “Why wait?”
He nuzzled her neck once more and released her. “Because I made a vow, just last night, that I would never again make love to any woman other than my wife.”
Celia’s heart quivered. How romantic, whispered a little voice in her head, a voice momentarily at odds with the demands of her body. “But I am your wife,” she argued softly, tugging at his jacket.
“Not yet.” His smile was full of promise, and Celia swallowed. Mutely she nodded acquiescence and released him. He opened her door, watched her go through it, and then closed it.
In her room she leaned against the wall to catch her breath. How long until the wedding? A fortnight. She pressed one hand to her heated face. Goodness, that seemed a long time all of a sudden.
But his vow…Celia closed her eyes, another smile curving her lips. She liked that vow very much.
The next week passed in happy contentment. Although all the houseguests had been invited to extend their stay for the wedding, many had to leave. Soon it was just the Percys, Warfield, and Ned. Anthony would really have preferred the last gentleman leave as well. Ned kept to his rooms and avoided Anthony, and was distant when in company. Anthony took the hint and ignored Ned in return.
With the house emptier and quieter, there were more opportunities to steal away with Celia for an hour or two. He loved surprising her. He loved seeing her eyes open wide when he whispered something shocking in her ear, and he loved the naughty smile that went with her blush even as she went along with his ideas. He loved that she allowed him liberties even when they shocked her. He loved everything about her.
Although he kept his vow not to visit Celia’s bed again, he saw no need to deprive either of them of lesser pleasures, in stolen moments here and there. Still, it wasn’t quite the same, and he took to early morning rides to take the edge off his hunger for her. Perhaps he had been too hasty in declaring he wouldn’t make love to her again until they were wed. But no; anticipation was a potent aphrodisiac. He could wait another week. It felt like he had waited his entire life for her, and in a week’s time she would be his, forever.
He rode so early, the rest of the household was usually not awake, but one morning that was not the case. He came downstairs dressed to ride as usual and Ned was there, in his traveling clothes, slapping his gloves into his palm. A trunk sat in the hall, and a footman was carrying out a valise. As Anthony came down the stairs, Ned looked up and his expression eased.
“Hamilton,” he said, sounding relieved. “There you are. I was about to leave you a note.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” Ned cleared his throat. “About…That is, to wish you well.” Anthony inclined his head. Ned hesitated. “On your marriage.”
“Thank you.”
“I have been…” Again Ned seemed to struggle for words. “I have not been gracious.”
Again Anthony merely bowed his head. Ned had been far from gracious, barely speaking a word to him in the past week or more. “You are leaving?”
“Yes, I have some business that requires my attention.” Ned gave a gruesome smile. “My immediate attention, unfortunately. I made my farewells to Warfield and our hosts last evening.”
Anthony unbent a little. He knew that feeling all too well. Who was he to judge another man in tight straits? For all he knew, Ned had been under strain for reasons completely unrelated to Anthony’s engagement to Celia. Ned had been a friend to him for years, and he was uncharitable to mistrust every word the man said now. “Safe journey back to town.”
“Thank you.” He grinned, finally looking like the same Ned of old. “Convey my felicitations to the bride, would you?”
Anthony smiled back, clasping Ned’s offered hand. Ned donned his hat and they walked out to where his horse waited behind the small carriage carrying his baggage and his valet.
“I shall miss th
is place,” Ned said, squinting against the sun as he tugged on his gloves. “The finest estate in Kent, they say.”
“Yes, I’ve always thought so.”
“Ah, yes. I forget you were often here as a boy.”
Anthony glanced at him, but Ned was still surveying the grounds. “Not often.”
Ned sighed. “Oftener than I. Fare thee well, Ham.”
Anthony stood on the steps and raised one hand in farewell as Ned mounted his horse and touched the brim of his hat in reply before riding off.
He walked to the stables and saddled Hestia himself, not bothering the grooms. He rode out around the lake, heading for the open fields and meadows. There was really nothing like riding early in the morning, Anthony thought, filling his lungs with crisp fresh air as Hestia stretched out her stride. He liked this part of the country. Perhaps he should surprise Celia with a property in Kent. He hadn’t yet thought of another wedding gift for her.
He had reached the dirt road that led to the ruins where they had picnicked several days earlier when he heard a sharp crack somewhere to his left, in the woods. His horse laid her ears flat back on her head and snorted. Anthony pulled her up, glancing into the trees. That had sounded an awful lot like a pistol shot, but no one from the house was out shooting. Surely there wouldn’t be poachers out this near the house.
The second shot took off his hat. Too startled even to curse, Anthony ducked low on Hestia’s neck, instinctively grabbing for the hat. Who the bloody hell was shooting—and why? It was damned careless. “Hold your fire!” he shouted.
The third shot sounded closer than even the second. Hestia whinnied sharply and lunged forward, breaking into a gallop. It was all Anthony could do to keep his seat as she tore up the road. Another shot cracked, and Hestia swerved abruptly to the right, veering up the slope of the hill. The shift took Anthony off guard and he lost a stirrup, leaving him no choice but to cling to the horse’s neck. He supposed Mr. Beecham hadn’t trained the poor animal to remain calm whilst being shot at. Anthony found it rather alarming himself, particularly as he still had no idea who was doing the shooting, where they were hiding, or why they had taken such a dislike to him. Instead of trying to bring Hestia under control, he gave her her head and concentrated on staying in the saddle.
A Rake’s Guide to Seduction Page 24
