Chapter 17
Champagne, Ices, and a Home by the Sea
“Well, it’s a lovely place, I’ll give him that, and the flowers are a nice touch,” Nichols said, regarding the little posies of sweet peas whose delicate perfume filled the room.
Cilly nodded, still unable to speak about the flowers without crying. Oh, the wretched man was going to turn her into a blithering idiot who cried at the drop of a hat if he kept this up.
Still, she had a weapon or two in her own arsenal, she thought with a smile as Nichols lifted a sheer piece of French wickedness from her trousseau. It was an item Cilly had bought on her own account from Mme Auguste and was rather pleased about.
“It’s hardly worth putting it on,” Nichols said with a tsk of disapproval. “You’ll catch your death.”
“Don’t be silly,” Cilly said, though her heart skipped erratically as she considered the picture she would make wearing it. Very little was left to the imagination.
Half an hour later and the ‘piece of French nonsense,’ as Nichols insisted referring to it, clung to her every curve. Her long hair had been brushed out and hung down her back in a golden wave, and the dreadfully expensive soap she had bought had left a subtle but lingering perfume upon her skin.
Nichols had departed, though not before giving Cilly some rather frank advice about what she might expect on her wedding night.
Cilly was uncertain if it had been reassuring or not.
From the murmur of voices in the next room, she knew that the champagne and ices Damian had ordered had arrived, and so she waited until she heard the door to the corridor close.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her hand over the doorknob and turned, stepping into the room.
“Ah, I was just about to call you. The ices—” Damian’s voice faltered as he turned away from the table he’d been fussing over and looked at her. He had unbent enough to remove his coat but was otherwise fully dressed.
Cilly’s heart thudded hard as his gaze travelled over her, over the wicked gown.
It was dyed a deep blue, almost black, the edges all trimmed with black lace, and it tied at intervals down the front.
Yet the lace and the ties allowed glimpses of bare skin, and the plunging neckline displayed her decolletage to advantage.
Besides which, the material was so sheer that the outline of her form was easily discerned.
Damian was quiet for a long moment, though Cilly felt the heat and weight of his gaze.
“Well,” he said after a long moment. “I see you were not understating your intention to fight dirty.”
Cilly smiled. “I did warn you.”
“You did.”
She hesitated, suddenly wondering if she had misjudged.
It had seemed a marvellous idea for their wedding night, but now she wondered if was entirely fair.
It was all well and good to joke about fighting dirty, but Damian’s feelings were no joke, and she ought not to make light of them.
“I’ll go and get dressed,” she said, turning hurriedly back towards the bedroom and feeling wretched for having blundered so badly.
“No!”
Cilly turned, glancing at him uncertainly.
“You look beautiful, and I shall enjoy the view, I assure you.” Pulling out a chair, he gestured for her to come and sit. “Your ices and champagne, Lady Rivington.”
“Damian, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. Come and sit down.”
Cilly walked to the table and allowed him to seat her, watching him apprehensively as he took the seat opposite. His hands were steady as he poured two glasses of champagne, but she felt the tension rolling off him in waves and wondered how best to put him at ease.
Reaching for her glass, she raised it, chinking it against his gently. “To us,” she said with a smile. “No matter what the future holds, may we always be the best of friends.”
He smiled at that and nodded. “And to you, Celia. May you be happy, despite your husband.”
Cilly tutted her disapproval at this toast but drank from the glass and set it down. “I believe I shall be happy because of my husband, especially if he fills my room with sweet peas and plies me with champagne and ices. Damian, this was so thoughtful of you, thank you.”
He shrugged and uncovered the large silver dome that filled the centre of the table.
“Oh!” Cilly gasped, pressing her hands to her heart with delight as she gazed at the most splendid arrangement of ices she’d ever seen.
Displayed upon a bed of plain chipped ice, there were a dozen little bowls of delicate blue-and-white china.
Each was decorated, some with sweet peas, others with tiny asters or fruit cleverly cut to form delicate roses.
“You once said your ambition was to taste all the ices they served here. I wasn’t sure if you had achieved your goal yet, so… well, they’re all here.”
He looked torn between embarrassment and annoyance that she was so delighted and Cilly forcefully held back her desire to throw herself at him and kiss him witless.
She had already misjudged things and could not afford to do so again.
Friends, she reminded herself. She could be his friend if nothing else.
“I have not,” she admitted with remarkable calm. “Let us taste each one and see if we can guess the flavours.”
“Very well,” he said, picking up his spoon.
Cilly looked at the wonderful display and went directly for a deep red bowl. “This must be raspberry,” she guessed, taking a spoonful. She sighed as the frozen treat melted on her tongue. “Oh, it is. Simply delicious. Here, you try.” She took another spoonful, holding it out to him.
Damian hesitated before leaning in and allowing her to feed him. His rather stern expression softened as he tasted the ice. “That is, indeed, raspberry.”
“Now, this one,” she said, taking another spoonful and holding it out. “I suspect it is coffee.”
Damian obediently swallowed the ice and nodded. “That’s good. I like that one.”
Cilly tried it too and let out a little sigh of pleasure. “Oh, heavenly. Now, this white one must be coconut.”
They carried on, tasting each bowl, guessing and comparing favourites, arguing over which was best, and little by little Cilly watched Damian unwind.
“Ugh. Parmesan. Cheese should never be an ice!” Cilly exclaimed, pulling a face and taking a large scoop of the coconut ice to chase away the flavour.
“It’s better than the lavender, it was like eating soap,” Damian protested.
“Not at all, I rather liked it,” she said, setting down her spoon. “Heavens, they were all wonderful, but I feel a little chilled now.”
Damian laughed and got to his feet. “You’d best sit by the fire and thaw out all that ice.”
He helped her up and let her to the sitting area where an elegant settee, comfortably furnished with soft cushions, was arranged close to the fire. Cilly sat down, waiting for him as he returned to the table and refilled their glasses, bringing Cilly’s to her.
“Thank you,” she said as he sat down beside her, noting the space between them.
Sipping her champagne, she watched the flames, enjoying the warmth of the fire.
“I believe I may have found a house for us.”
Cilly turned to look at him in surprise. “Oh?” She set down her glass on a side table, turning to gaze at him fully as he explained. He was staring at the fire as he spoke, twisting the stem of his glass between long, elegant fingers.
“I rode over there a few days ago after hearing about the place from a local. I’d already put word about that I was looking, you see.
Of course, you may not like it, but I believe you will be as charmed as I was.
It is in Fairlight, a little farther along the coast, up on the cliffs.
It’s a rather enchanting place, if too small, but I believe Gideon could help us redesign and enlarge it, if you liked the idea.
There are splendid views of the sea, and you would be close to Little Valentine as you like it here so—oof! ”
Cilly, quite unable to contain her emotions a moment longer, launched herself at him, jolting his champagne glass so the chilled liquid spattered his shirt sleeve and waistcoat.
Cilly pressed her mouth to his, tasting champagne and the lingering sweetness of the ices.
His lips were cool and resisted for a moment before giving way.
He allowed the kiss, though she still sensed the tension singing through him.
Pulling back, Cilly gazed down at him, stroking the thick blond hair from his brow.
“I’m wet,” he said, deadpan.
Cilly gazed at his sodden shirt sleeve and the damp patches on his waistcoat and let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, dear.”
“You did that on purpose.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I swear I did not, but I have been desperately restraining myself from doing so all evening. Honestly, Damian, what did you expect? The sweet peas in my room, the ices and champagne, and now a house by the sea. If you do not wish me to fall even more in love with you, I’m afraid you will need to stop being so wonderful. ”
He swallowed, his brows tugging together. “More in love?” he repeated sceptically, not meeting her eyes.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. It’s been happening since the first moment I met you, looking wicked and unrepentant in the foyer of this very hotel.
I wanted you then, and every meeting between us since has only deepened my feelings.
I know you, Damian. I see the man you try so valiantly to hide from the world, and I love you, all of you.
Just as you are. No matter what. You can’t stop me, you know. ”
He said nothing, his expression unreadable. Cilly could only imagine the turmoil her words had created inside him, but there was no help for it. Uncertain of how he felt about the kiss, she moved away again, putting a little distance between them.
“It’s all right,” she said gently, hoping she was not pushing him too hard. “I do not expect you to say it, Damian. I know you care for me, and that is enough. One day, I hope you will feel as I do, but I am not about to submit to tears and demand you declare yourself. I know that—”
“I do.”
Cilly’s gaze flew to his. “You do?”