Chapter 7
The Line in Between
“Deon.” Damian stared through the door he had just opened to find his brother, his hand raised to knock. But then again, he was only surprised he’d not come earlier to demand why Damian hadn’t visited Celia once during the past week.
As it happened, he was on his way there now, which was just as well, it seemed.
“Does this mean you are on your way to church, or even better, to the hall?” Deon asked, eyeing him critically. “Please say yes. I’m in no mood to fight with you, but it seems you are leaving me no option.”
“Yes, like a good little soldier,” Damian replied tightly, closing the door behind him. “Shall we?”
Deon inclined his head, following him down the hall.
“Thank you for vacating your rooms, by the way. I was beginning to fear I should never get the stench of cheese out of my nose,” he said, tugging on his gloves as he walked.
Deon chuckled. “You’re welcome. Now, are you going to tell me why you’ve been playing least in sight all week? Cilly is miserable, you know.”
Your fault.
Deon did not need to say the words out loud.
Damian knew they were true and were to be laid at his feet.
Yet he had not created this situation, she had.
He owed her nothing. Why the devil should his long-forgotten conscience decide to spark to life now, of all times, when it wasn’t even his bloody fault?
“Better a little unhappiness now than a lifetime later, Deon. She wants things I cannot give her, and you know why.”
“Yes, but does she?”
They had reached the front door and Damian pushed out of it, turning to face his brother once they were outside on the promenade.
“Strangely, I have not wished to burden her with that information just yet.”
“She has a right to know, Damian.”
Deon’s expression was sympathetic, understanding even, which only made Damian want to hit him. He sucked in a breath, trying to soothe his temper, and turned to face the splendid expanse of blue sea before swinging back to face his brother.
“Does she? I didn’t ask for this, remember. I was caught in a trap.”
Deon nodded. “That’s true, but are you going to hold it over her head for the rest of your lives? It’s no way to live, Damian, bearing grudges and counting slights. Let it go and tell her the truth.”
Damian snorted. “Why do I hear an unspoken or else lurking there?”
“Or else Hetty will tell her.”
Well, of course she bloody would. Damian’s lip curled. “Ah, a big happy family. How good to know my new sister is not above blackmailing me.”
“She loves her sister, Damian, as I do you. We want the best for you both. We want you to be happy.”
Damian snorted and shook his head, stalking on ahead. “And how long do I have for this ultimatum?”
“It’s not like that,” Deon protested. “Just tell her, Damian.”
The words faded as Damian strode away from him. Just tell her. As if it were nothing, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
Hell.
Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 15th September 1816
“It’s fine, Hetty. Run along, for heaven’s sake.
It’s Sunday, and Gideon has some well-earned free time.
Spend it with him. I’m perfectly happy,” Cilly said, still sitting at the piano in the music room.
She had been picking out a rather tortuous and sombre tune when her sister arrived, which was making it harder to convince Hetty she was in no need of bolstering.
“But I thought we could walk to church together,” Hetty replied, clearly torn between insisting she stay and spending some rare time with her hardworking spouse.
“I’m not on my own,” Cilly reproved her with a smile. “I have Gee-Gee and Hawkney, Lord Sheringham, and—”
“And no sign of your fiancé,” Hetty remarked reprovingly. “You’ve still not seen him?”
Cilly shook her head, refusing to allow her disappointment to show.
Everything had been going so well, far better than she had dared dream, and then…
no sign of him. Gideon had confirmed that he was still in town, his valet having only just moved them into The Mermaid.
Hetty and Gideon had left their suite and rented a charming little cottage on the edge of the village, about which Hetty was in raptures.
“No, but I’m certain he’ll turn up—”
“Like the bad penny he is?” suggested a laconic voice from behind them.
Despite telling herself it was pointless to get in a silly state over a man who was determined to keep her at arm’s length, Cilly’s heart performed a happy little dance in her chest.
“I should more likely say a rare coin, perhaps something Roman and ancient and not often seen,” Cilly replied with a teasing smile, determined not to appear cross, but equally determined not to let him get away with behaving like a thoughtless oaf.
He walked to her and took her hand, bowing over it. “Forgive me. I have neglected you.”
“Yes, you have,” Hetty said tartly, before making a buttoning motion over her lips as Cilly glared at her.
“Fine. I won’t interfere. Now your betrothed is here, I shall return to Gideon.
See you in church, Cilly dear—presuming the place doesn’t get struck by lightning when his lordship sets foot in the door. ”
She smiled sweetly at Damian and blew them both a kiss before she disappeared.
“I believe she is displeased with me? Can you credit it?” Damian said with mock indignation.
Cilly sighed and shook her head. “I suppose you will tell me it's none of my business if I ask where you have been?”
He said nothing, just watched her, and Cilly got to her feet, moving to stand in front of him. His expression was as closed off and unreadable as ever, but she sensed tension thrumming through him.
“Is everything all right, Damian? Did… Did something happen?” she asked, for as much as she had missed him and fretted he had changed his mind about wedding her, she had worried about him too.
“Nothing at all,” he said lightly, and turned to the piano, sitting down and playing a few notes.
She dithered, standing beside him, not knowing quite what to do or say but needing to do or say something. “I know you do not wish me to be a wife to you, Damian, but I promised I would be your friend. I would help, you know, if you are… troubled.”
He made a darkly amused sound but said nothing, instead turning his attention to the keys. Cilly’s breath caught as he began to play one of Field’s nocturnes. It was pretty and light and so out of character she could not help but smile.
“You play beautifully,” she remarked.
He said nothing but kept playing and she dared to take a step closer.
His hair gleamed in the light from the windows, thick and such a rich shade of blond.
Cilly itched to stroke it, to comb her fingers through it, but she did not dare.
She felt like she stood beside something wild in a cage, that might lash out if she reached for it, but he was the one who had put up the bars, not she.
You did this, she reminded herself. He owes you nothing.
You took away his choices. Now, you must live with that choice, no matter how it hurts.
It did hurt though. It hurt a little more each day that she spent in his company and discovered more about him, about what he liked, what made him laugh.
Conversely, not seeing him at all had made her utterly wretched.
She dared to reach out and lay her hand on his shoulder. He stopped playing abruptly.
“Well, I imagine everyone is ready by now. Shall we wait in the entrance hall?” he asked.
He got to his feet and offered her his arm.
It felt like a rebuke. This far, and no farther.
She sighed. Patience, she reminded herself. He had no reason to trust her after what she’d done to him, and trust took time. Though she was not the least bit patience by nature, she promised herself that for Damian, she would wait.
Damian walked with Celia on his arm, the rest of the household a little way ahead of them.
He’d rather hoped she would be angry with him for staying away for so long without a word, just so he could throw her anger back in her face with the fact she’d trapped him.
But she hadn’t been angry, and now he was simmering with an unwelcome mixture of guilt and frustration.
He did not know what to do. Staying away had solved nothing.
He’d wished to see her. Without him noticing, the wretched woman had become his friend, and he had missed her.
Damn her eyes.
Damian assured himself that friendship was exactly what he wanted. The best of both worlds, in fact. He got to enjoy her company with none of the messy business of having a wife. He could always find a willing mate to warm his bed, after all.
They walked to church in silence and, despite Hetty’s words, there was no plague of locusts, and the ground did not open to reveal a fiery pit under his feet. Pity. That might have made things somewhat easier.
The sermon was surprisingly entertaining.
Reverend Honeywell was a fine orator who kept his audience enraptured with laughter and his own wry but sharp interpretation of the Bible and how it applied to their lives.
So, instead of spending the time bored to death, it passed quickly, and Damian even enjoyed the hymns, rather delighted to discover that Cilly could not have held a tune in a bucket if her life depended on it.
“What is it?” she asked as he offered her his arm.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You were grinning,” she accused.
“I was not grinning, I was smiling affectionately,” Damian corrected.
She snorted. “Now I know you are lying.”
“Dear one, how cruel you are to me,” he protested.
She shot him a look through narrowed eyes. “No one is listening, Damian. Pretending you like me in company is one thing, you need not do so at other times. Indeed, I would prefer it if you did not.”
She sounded weary suddenly, and he darted a sharp glance her way. “You are annoyed with me.”
“Not at all,” she said, but the smile that curved her lush mouth seemed a little forced, and not at all the kind of smile he’d grown used to.
Damian studied her, noting the dark circles under her eyes.
She had been worried by his absence, perhaps she’d even feared he would abandon her to her fate after all.
He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
She stopped in her tracks and turned to look at him, so surprised that he could not help but give a rueful smile.
“I do know what the word means, Celia. I even use it from time to time.”
She frowned, staring down at her toes for a long moment before meeting his eyes again. “What are you sorry for?”
Ah, a good question, pet, he thought, amused by her tenacity.
“For hurting your feelings. For not visiting or sending word of where I was or what I was doing. You likely wondered if I was going to abandon you, and I am sorry for that. I will not do so, Celia. My word of honour.”
She nodded, but doubt and anxiety still flickered in her eyes. The vulnerability shining there stabbed at him, making him feel like a brute. “But why did you? Did I… Did I do anything wrong, or—”
He shook his head. “Of course you did nothing wrong. I—” He hesitated. If they were to get through this damnable mess in one piece, he owed her a little honesty. “I am finding our situation a little… challenging.”
She visibly deflated before his eyes, and he cursed himself for not thinking his words through.
“Celia,” he reached out and took her hands. “I am unused to having… friends—especially female friends—who know or understand me. I am finding it difficult to draw the line between allowing you to be my friend and… and yet managing your expectations of what you may get in return. Do you understand?”
He saw her throat work and the daunting notion she might be fighting tears made discomfort squirm in his guts.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed. “I’m no good at this.”
Despite everything, she laughed, a slightly choked sound, but she squeezed his arm. “Considering I crashed into your life and upended everything to suit myself, you are doing wonderfully. I am sorry, though. For causing you… more unhappiness.”
Damian stared at her, realising with a jolt that she had not caused him unhappiness at all.
That was the trouble.