Chapter 2 #3
Cilly fought the anger and humiliation burning beneath her skin, and the startling desire to slap the woman’s smug face.
She had never felt tempted to commit violence before, but the pleasure the countess took in belittling her made Cilly furious.
How many other young women had been skewered by that sharp tongue and been unable to defend themselves?
Well, Cilly had endured quite enough from this dreadful woman, and besides which she was horribly aware that Damian was vibrating with fury beside her.
At any moment he was going to say something utterly appalling.
Far better she be the one to draw the woman’s venom.
“Oh, that’s a blessing, then,” Cilly exclaimed, letting out a breath of relief.
She turned to Damian and laid her free hand upon his arm in a familiar, affectionate gesture, though she knew very well that her smile was not quite nice.
“Did you hear, darling? I won’t have to go to the Dunmeres’ tedious Christmas house party after all.
Thank you so much. I just knew marrying you would be far more entertaining than wedding the Earl of Crenshaw. ”
“My darling Celia, you are most welcome,” Damian replied coolly, a dangerous glitter sparkling in his eyes. “If you’ll excuse us, my lady, we are having a little private conversation about our futures. Engaged people are tedious, I’m afraid. Good day to you.”
They walked away, leaving the countess with her mouth open.
Cilly held her breath and managed to walk down the stairs to the beach before she completely lost her composure. She threw back her head and laughed.
Damian turned to stare at her in astonishment, which only made matters worse.
Cilly released her hold on his arm, clutching at her middle, fighting for breath as tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh! Oh, d-did you see her face…?” she chortled, and then went off into whoops again.
Damian’s cynical mouth tilted in a crooked grin, and he regarded her with amusement.
“You’ve never said anything rude or cutting in your life before, have you?”
Cilly gasped and shook her head. “No. I have always been the perfect lady, no matter how tempted I’ve been.
But I’m not a lady now, am I? So why must I play by their rules any longer?
The polite world has deemed me ruined, so I believe I shall be myself from now on, and they can take it or leave it. ”
She met his eyes, knowing she was not just speaking of the polite world. Cilly had no desire to go about insulting people—she did not wish to turn into a woman as hard and unpleasant as the Countess of Dunmere—but neither did she see why she ought to tolerate them any longer.
Damian shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or the other.
Bending, he picked up a pebble and walked towards the water.
“You are an adult and ought to voice your own opinions as you see fit, but you’re still a lady.
Don’t let anyone disabuse you of that notion,” he said before striding down the beach and flinging the pebble into the water.
Cilly watched, her heart giving an erratic thud as the little stone skipped the waves, once, twice, three times before finally disappearing.
She smiled, a tentative flicker of hope sparking to life at his words. That had been a kind thing to say. Cilly followed him down the beach, watching curiously as he reached for another pebble. She laughed as this one skipped five times before it sank.
“Oh, how clever,” she said in delight.
“You’ve never skimmed pebbles?” He turned to look at her in surprise.
Cilly shook her head, determined to learn how. “Never. Show me how, please?”
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “There are two keys to skimming pebbles. First, you want the right stones. The flatter the better.”
Cilly hunted about on the sand before snatching up a small stone that sat comfortably in her palm. Damian took it from her, gave an approving nod, and handed it back.
“You said two keys, what is the second?” she asked eagerly.
“It’s all in the wrist,” he said, showing her the little flicking motion he made. “Watch.”
Cilly stood back, observing as he launched another pebble. Skip, skip, skip. He frowned, obviously displeased with the number of jumps it had made.
“You try.”
Cilly nodded, turning side on to the sea as he had done. She bit her lip, concentrating and making a few practice flicks with her hand before throwing the stone. It landed with a plop and disappeared.
“Drat.”
She turned to look at Damian, who silently handed her another pebble. “Oh, thank you.”
For the next ten minutes they carried on in this fashion, with Damian supplying her with flat stones and Cilly watching with increasing frustration as they plunged into the sea without so much as a single bounce.
“You’re trying too hard,” he said at length. “It’s nothing to do with strength, it’s the angle. Look.”
He moved to stand behind her, taking her hand in his.
Cilly’s breath caught as his solid chest pressed against her back, his warm hand gently encircling her wrist. She glanced up at him, at the firm line of his jaw, at the intensity of his icy blue-grey eyes.
But he was not looking at her. Indeed, her proximity seemed of little moment to him, whereas her entire body had sparked to life.
“You see,” he continued, blithely unaware of what he was doing her to her equilibrium.
Cilly nodded, trying to concentrate on what he was telling her.
“Right. I’ll help. On the count of three, let go of the pebble. One, two, three!”
Cilly let go and watched with delight as the little stone skipped twice.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, turning to him in triumph. “I did it!”
He grinned, and Cilly felt entirely certain her heart had forgotten to beat for several seconds. She smiled back, utterly captivated as it recommenced with an ungainly lurch behind her ribs.
The smile died on his lips, as if he’d just remembered he had forbidden her from receiving any smiles from him. “Well, now you have the knack, you just need to practise,” he said briskly, and walked off along the beach.
Cilly watched him for a moment before searching for a handful of pebbles. She threw them one after the other, but they all sank. Dispirited, she turned and followed him along the beach.
Damian scowled down at the sand, ensuring to keep a distance from the waves that foamed and snatched at pebbles and shells, dragging them under. His boots had cost him a small fortune, and he wasn’t about to ruin them with saltwater. Finch would murder him, for one thing.
He was aware of Celia following close behind him and wished he had not suggested this walk.
She was revealing herself to him, facets of her character he had not expected.
Neither had he anticipated his own reaction to them.
Though he had recognised her rather wayward spirit long before she had ruined him, there was much more to her.
She was funny and brave, too. Looking that vile woman in the face and speaking so coolly, and in such a way…
. Despite himself, his lips curved at the memory.
The Countess of Dunmere had been so shocked she’d not known how to react.
Yet he did not wish to admire her. Having a wife was one thing.
He would take her money with pleasure; perhaps he would sell the family home and build the house he’d spoken of.
She would like that, for he knew his brother would design him something splendid with all modern conveniences.
It would be a home of which she would be proud, and in which he would enjoy living, for he loved beautiful things, and he liked the idea of making the place his own.
Except it would not be his own, it would be theirs.
Oh, this marriage business was going to be the very devil.
He turned to see that she had stopped to try skimming stones again. Her expression was intense, her eyes narrowed against the glare of the sky. The tip of her pink tongue stuck out as she concentrated, turning herself sideways and flicking her wrist as he’d shown her.
Stone after stone sank without a trace, but she persevered. Her determination was touching. Admirable. She gave a little growl of frustration and hunted for another stone, flinging it crossly out to sea. It skipped once, twice, three times, four.
She stared in astonishment.
“Bravo!” Damian called, the call leaving his mouth before he could think better of it.
She turned to look at him, and her expression seemed to chase the air from his lungs: her sparkling eyes, her grin so wide it split her face. She gave a little whoop of delight and danced about on the spot. Damian swallowed.
Damn her. His intended bride was turning out to be a complication of the kind he really did not need.