Chapter 11 #3
Damian watched as Celia perused the wares with obvious delight, though she did not remark upon anything in particular.
Turning back to regard the offerings himself, Damian’s gaze fell upon an elegant brooch.
It was a beautiful stone of golden topaz, surrounded by a delicate halo of pearls.
It appealed to him, making him think of… of something….
He looked up and found Celia smiling at him, her catlike golden eyes warm with pleasure.
“Thank you,” she said. “For bringing me here. I’m having a lovely time.”
Before he could make some cynical comment to diminish the impact her words seemed to have upon him, she reached up and pressed her soft mouth against his cheek.
It was a peck, nothing more. She did not provocatively press her breasts against his arm as she leaned in, as a more experienced flirt would have done.
Neither did she linger, nor whisper seductively in his ear, and yet his breath caught, and he discovered she had robbed him of words.
Torn between fury at the power she seemed to wield over him and the undeniable desire to please her, to be worthy of the happiness that shone in her eyes, Damian turned back to the window.
He reminded himself that she had trapped him into this, but any anger he had felt over that had long since died and refused to be resurrected. She had promised to be his friend, and she had kept that promise, not simply paid lip service to it.
He had denied her any chance to be a proper wife, a mother, condemning her to a future where her husband would be unfaithful to her and might one day even be a cause of shame, locked away in an asylum. Yet she smiled at him, with something that looked painfully like affection in her eyes.
Oh, bloody hell. He wanted it to be affection, devil take him. Damian wanted all her smiles, her laughter, her affection, and yes, even her love. He wanted to hoard it for himself, like a dragon sitting on a pile of gold, and give nothing in return.
Well, perhaps not entirely nothing.
“Come on,” he said gruffly, taking her hand and tugging her into the shop.
“What—” Celia began in surprise, but he gave her no opportunity to speak.
“Show me that brooch in the window,” he barked at the shopkeeper, who jumped in alarm but hurried to do his bidding.
“W-Which, my lord—?” the poor fellow asked with an anxious smile.
Damian noted the honorific with wry amusement, because only the nobility would be so bloody rude.
“The golden topaz with pearls.”
“Ah, an excellent choice,” the fellow said, rallying with the prospect of an excellent sale before him, for it was an expensive piece, though elegant rather than flashy.
“Well?” Damian asked Celia as the fellow presented it to her. “Do you like it?”
Celia’s eyes were wide and soft with surprise as she gazed up at him.
“Ah, his lordship has chosen better than I realised, for it sets off the gold in the lady’s eyes. Such an unusual colour,” the fellow said, and then snapped his mouth shut and turned a dull red as Damian sent him an incinerating glare.
“It’s beautiful, Damian,” Celia murmured.
Damian turned back to her, wondering why her voice quavered so, and found her lovely eyes sparkling far brighter than the brooch.
“You’re sure? If you’d prefer something else—”
She shook her head at once, reaching out and grasping his arm. “No! No, I love this best. Thank you.”
Damian frowned at her. “Well, there’s no need to cry,” he said crossly. “Didn’t anyone ever buy you jewellery before, for heaven’s sake?”
Celia sniffed and scrambled for her handkerchief, hurriedly wiping her eyes. “Nothing so lovely as this, no. Forgive me. I’m b-being silly,” she said, giving him a bright smile before blowing her nose.
“Hmph.”
“Shall I wrap the box or—”
“Oh, m-might I wear it at once?” Celia asked, glancing up at him as if he’d be brute enough to say no. He had the dawning suspicion that saying no to Celia was something he would find increasingly difficult to do.
He waved an impatient hand as if he couldn’t care less. “Yes, fine. If it pleases you.”
The shopkeeper beamed and hurried around the counter, but the idea of the fellow pinning it on Celia’s coat for her put Damian so out of temper that he snatched it from the fellow.
“I’ll do that,” he muttered.
Celia kept perfectly still, biting her lip as he pinned it to her spencer.
Sliding his hand beneath the collar, the warmth of her body enveloped his fingers, making him wish they were alone and he could strip every layer from her to touch the source of that heat.
Forcing the errant thought away, he concentrated on the task, his knuckles brushing lightly against her breast. Even through the layers of undergarments and gown, the hectic thudding of her heart pounded against them.
It was a little reassuring to know it wasn’t just him getting in such a dither over nothing.
Though she was a virgin, he most certainly was not and had no business reacting like such a clodpole.
Her exquisitely tailored coat was dark green velvet, and the rich colour set off the golden topaz to perfection.
Damian stood back, experiencing a strangely proprietary thrill of delight at seeing her wear something he had given her.
He told himself not to be such a blasted idiot and turned, arranged the payment with the shopkeeper, and strode to the door.
Celia walked out as he held it open for her, smiling and gazing down at the brooch pinned to her breast with obvious delight.
She did not stop grinning all the way back to the carriage. He handed her in and the carriage rocked into motion. They were several miles down the road when his patience frayed. She was still beaming like a nitwit and gazing at the brooch like he’d gifted her the crown jewels.
“For heaven’s sake, Celia. You’re the daughter of a duke, for the love of God. There’s really no need to get so worked up over a trumpery bit of nothing like that. When we are married, I shall buy you a proper parure set, diamonds perhaps, or—”
“Nothing will ever be better than this,” she said smugly, covering the brooch protectively as if he’d threatened to rip it off her.
Damian shook his head and turned to glower out of the window.
“Admit it, you are only cross because you cannot pretend you are a wicked, heartless devil any longer. I know the truth. As I suspected right from the start, you are a good man, Damian, but if it makes you feel better, I shan’t tell a soul.”
Damian harrumphed and crossed his arms, saying nothing. But her words slid under his skin, insinuating themselves into all the dark corners of his soul and lighting them up despite his protests.