Chapter 11 #2
Damian wiped his eyes and let out a breath. Good lord, how long had it been since he had laughed like that? When had he ever laughed like that with a woman?
“Shall we have a cup of tea?” he suggested, trying to sound contrite.
“Yes, but I’m not talking to you,” she said crossly.
“Whyever not? I drank the horrid stuff too.” He spread his hands, attempting to look guileless, which was utterly pointless but still amusing.
Celia narrowed her eyes. “Yes, but you were prepared, and you knew very well that I was not. Now I am going to order the largest cake I can find, and you may watch me eat it, for I will not share. So there.”
“So be it,” Damian agreed sombrely, and guided her into a pretty tea shop. They sat in the window where they could watch the world go by and a few moments later, a neatly dressed waitress appeared.
“Sir, Madam, what may I get you?”
“Tea, please, and you may bring my wife the largest cake you have, for the poor thing is in need of sustenance after drinking the waters.”
Their waitress pulled a face.
“Oh, I don’t blame you, madam. Nasty, it is,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve got some lovely Chelsea buns, sticky and sweet they are, just out the oven. Does that suit?”
“It sounds just the thing, thank you,” Celia agreed.
The waitress nodded, smiled at Damian, and hurried off.
“She likes you,” Celia observed, quirking one eyebrow. “A very pretty girl, too.”
Damian frowned, realising he’d not noticed. “Was she?”
Celia shot him an odd look, as if he were telling fibs, but he merely shrugged.
The girl returned shortly thereafter, and Damian realised she was indeed a pretty creature, and one who smiled at him rather warmly. He darted a glance at Celia to see if she’d noticed and she returned a ‘didn’t I say so?’ look as she stripped off her gloves.
Was she jealous? It was hard to tell, but he hoped she was and that troubled him.
He ought not wish for such things. After all, he wasn’t planning to live the life of a monk once they were married.
He would take a mistress, as many married men did, and…
and that would hurt her. There was no point in pretending that Celia would not be wounded if he was unfaithful, no matter the terms of their marriage.
goddammit, how had this become so bloody complicated?
He did not want to hurt her. The very idea made his own heart contract painfully.
“You know, you may order your own bun if you really want one, but please stop frowning so prodigiously at mine. You’re putting me off,” Celia said, a piece held between her fingers, suspended in mid-air before her.
Damian rearranged his face. He was supposed to be making up for the dreadful morning she’d endured, not making things worse.
“Forgive me. I was woolgathering.”
“Not happy thoughts, I collect,” she remarked with a gentle smile.
“How is the bun?” he asked, determined to change the subject.
“Delicious. Here, not that you deserve such treats.” Celia pulled a section of the bun apart and held it out to him.
Damian regarded it for a moment, a strange tension coiling in his belly.
He leaned in, allowing her to feed it to him.
Though he knew it was stupid, he could not resist meeting her eyes, as her fingers brushed his lips.
He heard her swift inhale, saw the way her eyes darkened, and longing seared him, burning away everything else and leaving such raw need it hurt.
She looked away from him, systematically pulling the bun into pieces.
Damian watched as she lifted each piece to her mouth.
The buttery sweetness still lingered on his tongue, and more than anything, he wanted to taste it on her, too.
Her tongue swept out, swiping a little of the sticky glaze from her lips, and a bolt of pure lust shot to his groin.
Damian smothered a groan and shifted uncomfortably, too aware of how his body was reacting.
This was bad. This was very bad indeed. He’d always liked Celia, had always thought her beautiful, but…
but this was different. This was unlike anything he’d experienced before.
Lusting after women was second nature, he’d spend the better part of his adult life indulging his worst impulses and knew better than most how to keep his urges under control, so they did not rule him.
Keeping himself from gazing at her plush lips, however, seemed to be utterly impossible, and when she put her finger in her mouth and sucked the remnants of sticky bun from the tip, his breath caught.
Pack it in, he told himself severely, forcing himself to think of all the worst things he could to diminish his burgeoning arousal before he embarrassed himself. Luckily, he had plenty to choose from.
“Are you all right?”
He looked up at Celia’s gentle enquiry and smiled, though he feared it was more of a grimace. “Fine. How was the bun?”
“Utterly delicious. I think they might be my favourite thing in the entire world.”
He smiled at that, charmed at her enthusiasm. She sipped her tea, gazing out of the window and to his dismay, he discovered he was staring at her mouth again. It quirked into a little smile, and she leaned closer to him, whispering.
“Look at those two, do you think we shall look like that in forty or fifty years?”
Damian laughed as he looked at the elderly couple walking arm in arm. “No, you’ll have stopped talking to me decades earlier, I’m sure, though that lady doesn’t seem to draw breath.”
“He seems happy enough with her chatter,” Celia remarked crossly.
“He’s deaf. I doubt he’s heard a word she’s said since seventeen ninety and that suits him fine.” Damian lifted an eyebrow at her and she huffed.
“How unromantic you are. I believe they are still madly in love.”
As they watched, the old man carefully steered his wife around a puddle, and the old lady looked up and smiled fondly at him.
“Ha!” she said, triumphant.
Damian laughed, but something shifted in his chest, making him uneasy. “Ah, now there is true love in all its glory,” he said cynically, gesturing to a very well-dressed young man with an expensive looking older lady on his arm. “He is in love.”
“With that lady?” Celia asked uncertainly.
“No, my dear, with her income.”
Celia huffed. “You are too jaded for this game, my lord.”
Damian shrugged and finished his tea. “Have you recovered from the horrid water tasting, then?”
Celia nodded, and they gathered their things, returning to the main promenade. They had barely taken two steps when a woman cried out behind them.
“Toby! Toby, come back here, you naughty—”
Glancing behind them, they saw a little boy running pell mell away from his nurse, laughing as he went, darting in and out and tripping a young woman as he pushed past her. She gave an indignant little shriek that the devil ignored, too intent on mischief.
“Good lord, he will fall on his face if she doesn’t catch him,” Celia said anxiously, but the nurse was nowhere near as fleet of foot as the child.
As if her words had provoked that very reaction, the boy stumbled, arms windmilling wildly, but his forward momentum carried him on.
Celia gasped and Damian lunged, going to one knee to grab the child before he hit the ground with his face. The child gave a startled cry, his face crumpling, lip wobbling dramatically.
“Chin up, my fine fellow, you’re all right. It was just a shock,” Damian said conversationally as he stood the little boy upright and brushed him down. “Look, not even a graze on your knee. You are a lucky devil, aren’t you?”
The boy sniffled and wiped his nose, but nodded, composure regained.
“Toby, oh, Toby!” The nursemaid, who had obviously lost control of her charge, went to her knees beside the lad and pulled him into an embrace. “Oh, you wicked boy! You scared me to death.”
“S-Sorry, Mary,” the boy said contritely.
The young woman gave him a look that suggested they would revisit this occurrence at a later date, but she stood, taking the boy by the hand, and turned to Damian. She blushed as their eyes met.
“I-I don’t know how to thank you, sir. That was most kind of you.”
“You are very welcome,” Damian said, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a handful of coins. He selected a shiny sixpence and crouched down, showing it to the lad.
“Would you like this?”
The boy’s eyes widened, and he reached for it.
Damian held it out of reach. “You may have it if you promise me you will be a good boy for Mary and stop running around like a runaway cavalry horse.”
The lad glanced up at his nurse and smiled sheepishly. “I will.”.
Damian handed him the coin, which the boy clasped tightly in his fist.
“Thank you, sir.”
Damian stood and looked down at him with an approving nod. “You are welcome.”
“Thank you again, sir,” the nursemaid said with a smile before glancing at Celia. “I expect he’s a wonderful papa,” she said, before blushing scarlet and hurrying her charge away.
Damian stiffened as he felt Celia take his arm, too aware that she was watching his reaction.
“Come on,” he said gruffly, refusing to meet her eyes.
“Bribery and corruption,” she said, tsking lightly as they walked.
Damian snorted, relaxing a degree. “Nothing of the sort. I invested in public safety.”
He glanced down, rather pleased to discover she was smiling.
They strolled for a while, looking in shop windows and chatting about nothing in particular.
The overwhelming desire he’d experienced in the tea shop was still there, burning quietly in the background, but for the moment, just being with her, sharing the simple pleasure of window shopping, was enough.
They paused in front of an elegant shopfront bearing a display of beautiful jewellery. Those who shopped here ranged from the comfortably wealthy to the obscenely rich, and the display reflected that.