Chapter 4 #3
He’d left shortly afterwards, having decided Lady Cecilia was a deal more dangerous than she looked.
As he’d no intention of becoming leg-shackled, he’d decided to give her a wide berth.
He’d not realised at the time that this ought to have meant a distance of at least twenty miles to be on the safe side.
Though the day was not precisely warm, it was mild, and he found Celia sitting in the sunshine, her paints and an easel before her. Her brush was in her hand, but her gaze was on the horizon and she appeared troubled.
“Thinking of running away, my dear?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice and looked around, her face brightening at the sight of him. Damian squashed the little dart of pleasure that gave him, reminding himself it would do neither of them any good if he became fond of her.
“Oh, good morning, Damian. How glad I am that it is you. Do sit down. Would you like tea?”
“No, I thank you. Were you expecting someone else?” he asked, making himself comfortable beside her on the padded bench.
She made a face of disgust that made him smile. “No. But I’ve had three callers already and if I get another, I may shoot them, or myself,” she said, thrusting the paintbrush into a jar of water and rinsing it with vigour.
“Ah. How many holes must I dig?”
She looked back at him in confusion. “Holes?”
“For the bodies. They’ll need burying, you know.”
She gave a sudden bark of laughter and Damian grinned at her. “Oh, yes. Silly me. I never do think far enough ahead.”
“Evidently. Just look who you are engaged to,” he remarked easily, brushing a speck of lint from his sleeve.
She sighed and sat back, drying the bristles of her brush carefully on a rag.
“Oh, no. That’s all working out splendidly.
I’m just tired of people acting like I’ve lost something of value.
If they were engaged to marry the Earl of Crenshaw, they might realise just what a splendid match I’ve made.
Though I’m afraid Miss Richardson, who called upon me with her mama—both so full of pretty little daggers—was rather worse afflicted with the green-eyed monster.
I’m certain she envied me and pity had nothing to do with it.
I should watch out for her, were I you.”
“I am aware of Miss Richardson,” he replied dryly. “That apple did not fall far from the tree. Her mother is far worse, believe me.”
Celia sat up, gazing at him with interest. “You don’t say? But she’s such a stickler for propriety.”
“Oh, but I do say, Celia, my dear. She’s had an endless parade of lovers, you know. She once accosted me behind a potted palm and groped my person as if she had a claim on it.”
He watched, amused, as Celia’s expression segued from one of interest to utter fury.
“She did what? How dare she put her hands on you like that! Oh, Damian, I’m so sorry.
When I think all the time she was here, she sat there smirking and making out like she pitied me, and she did that…
to you! I hope you said something appalling to her,” she replied hotly.
“For if you did not, I shall. Just wait until I see her again.”
Damian held out a hand, startled by her vehemence, and a little touched if he were honest. Whilst he had believed that she would defend him as part of their deal, it had never occurred to him that she might mean it.
“Celia, calm yourself. It was last season, and such women are often, shall we say, somewhat grabby when they’ve had a drink or two.”
Celia glared at him. “Many men are grabby too, as you so quaintly phrase it. I am tired of dodging their insinuating fingers, but I had believed that men were not so afflicted. I apologise, Damian, it appears I am every bit as innocent as you suspected.”
She looked rather glum now. He frowned at her.
“Don’t take it to heart so. I assure you I did not. I am well able to deal with the Mrs Richardson’s of the world.”
“Yes, I know. It’s just rather dispiriting to know that you must.” She sighed, looking dejected and Damian wished his life wasn’t so full of stories that would make her see the world in a tawdry light. He did not enjoy seeing the sparkle in her eyes dim. Hadn’t he promised to protect her, at least?
“I believe I am being hunted again,” he said with a smile, hoping to distract her. “This time by a man of the cloth.”
She looked up and the tension that had tightened his shoulders eased as she smiled. “Ah. Reverend Honeywell. I’m afraid you may as well give it up, Damian. The man is not to be thwarted.”
“So I understand.” He sat back, fixing her with his gaze. “You did promise to protect me.”
She laughed, and he relaxed. “So I did, and I shall. I tell you what, shall we take the bull by the horns and visit the reverend? That way you are making a pre-emptive strike.”
Damian considered this. “An excellent notion. We shall beard the lion in his den.”
“Damian, he’s a clergyman, not the devil.”
“Both creatures are determined to win my soul,” he said darkly. “What’s the difference?”
“Ridiculous man,” she said, but she looked far more at ease now and Damian congratulated himself on having lightened her mood. “I must change but I won’t keep you waiting long, I promise.”
He nodded and settled himself down to wait