“Everything.” It was the only word he could intelligently form at the moment.
“Perhaps you should fetch your barouche, while I fetch Lady Sophie.” Celia rose and stepped away from him, making him hunger for her even more. After a graceful curtsy and a knowing smile, she left him there in the middle of the library, staring after her.
Suddenly, he recognized the clever snare he had earlier sensed. The dowager didn’t fear leaving Celia in his company because she knew exactly what his fellow solicitors and thetonwould think if he formed a slightly too convenient attachment to the beneficiary of her will—the will he had drawn up for the duchess.
“Damn,” he said under his breath. The lady had effortlessly boxed him into a corner. He snorted and rolled his shoulders the same way he did when training at No. 13 Bond Street with Gentleman Jackson to box away his frustrations. “Do not count your winnings yet, Your Grace,” he quietly warned as he stepped into the hall and looked up and down it for Gransdon to recover his hat and gloves. “I am a worthy opponent.”
Chapter Five
“You certainly areplaying the part of modest companion.” Sophie perched on the chair in front of the dressing table, eying Celia as she donned her plainest bonnet, selected a pair of gloves, then retrieved an unadorned parasol and modest reticule. “You are not even going to change your dress?”
“I am not.” Celia glanced down at her favorite ivy-embroidered muslin that had quite successfully caught Lord Raines’s—no, not Lord Raines’s, but Elias’s—eye during tea. She smiled at the memory and grudgingly realized that perhaps he wasn’t such an odious gentleman after all. In fact, she rather liked him. Probably much more than she should.
She gave a teasing wiggle of her shoulders. “The man seemed to appreciate my appearance well enough earlier. Why should he not continue?”
Sophie rose and circled Celia. “I suppose you are right. The trailing ivy does guide the eye to the qualities a man admires most. Or at least, so I have read.” She interrupted herself with a wicked giggle. “Are you certain Frannie wouldn’t be a more appropriate chaperone? After all, she is posing as a married woman.”
“Frannie and her mother have an appointment with their favorite modiste today. The woman is highly sought after. I would hate to cause them to lose this opportunity while they are in London.”
“I see.” Sophie went to the window overlooking the street and parted the sheer panels of lace hanging between the draperies. “My, my, and what a fine barouche Lord Raines has.”
“He is here already?” Celia shoved in and had a look for herself. A coachman stood beside the carriage’s black horses. The beasts shone like a pair of highly polished onyx jewels, making them perfectly suited for the stylish barouche. It was painted a gleaming black with gold detailing, and the folds of its retracted top shone in the sun like the finest satin. “Lord Raines and his brother must be quite close to warrant such a gift.”
“According to my contacts,” Sophie said, “he and the duke are all that remains of their family. Much like me and Maman.”
“Like all of us,” Celia said while still peeping out the window. She swallowed hard against the sudden knot of dread tightening her throat. Soon, she would have no one. An emotionally charged huff escaped her. Of course, if Mama got her wish and married her off before losing the battle with the illness…
Celia dismissed that idea with a determined hiss. That particular wish would not come true. She refused to marry for anything other than love. Mama had never hidden the fact that her union with Father had been nothing more than a friendly business arrangement, so he might secure an heir, and she might improve her family’s social standing. Mama had loved Master Hodgely—and lost him by doing what her family wanted rather than what her heart desired.
“Stop huffing and hissing. You sound like a stray cat spoiling for a fight.” Sophie plucked a fresh sprig of greenery from her own bonnet and secured it to Celia’s. “For luck, dear sister. And it matches your dress.”
“I fear I shall need it.” Celia fidgeted with her gloves. She hated the things but couldn’t be seen on an outing without them. Determined to improve her own mood, she twitched her nose at Sophie, then winked. “He did ask me to call him Elias rather thanmy lord.”
“Very impressive.” Sophie rewarded her with a proud smile, then nudged her. “You did nothing improper to make such progress with the handsome Lord Raines, did you?”
Celia dramatically fanned herself. “I allowed him to touch my fingers when I handed him a glass of wine, and then later, I let him touch the back of my bare hand.”
“Celia!” Sophie attempted to appear shocked before giving in to a fit of snorting giggles.
A knock at the door interrupted them. “Lady Sophie? Miss Bening?” one of the newest maids called without opening the door. “Mr. Gransdon says Lord Raines has arrived with his carriage.”
Sophie rocked an auburn brow to an inquisitive height. “Are we ready?”
A sudden excited fluttering in Celia’s middle caught her off guard. For heaven’s sake, how ridiculous. She cleared her throat and swallowed hard to dispel the unreasonable feeling but failed. The finger sandwich she had eaten after leaving Lord Raines in the library must not have sat well. “I suppose I am as ready as I shall ever be.”
“You’ve gone quite pink in the cheeks, and I know you never go near a pot of rouge. Are you all right? Shall I send him away?” With a concerned frown, Sophie removed her glove and pressed the backs of her fingers to Celia’s forehead. “You don’t appear to be overly warm.”
“No,” Celia said, inwardly chiding herself. “I appear to be overly silly.” She led the way out into the hall and paused at her mother’s door. A peek inside revealed Berta in the small sitting room quietly mending. The maid looked up and pressed a finger to her lips, then offered a sad smile. Celia nodded, closed the door, and continued on.
“Her Grace is sleeping?” Sophie whispered.
“Yes.” Celia left it at that. To speak of it in any more depth would reduce her to tears and foil an opportunity to further seduce the rakishly handsome, yet entirely too curious, Lord Raines. As she descended the stairs, a pang of guilt about toying with the genuinely nice man not only surprised her but sent her stomach fluttering even more. She pressed a hand to her middle and silently ordered it to stop. It had to be those few bites of sandwich causing her such unusual distress. The meat paste must have surely turned. She would speak to Mrs. Harcourt after the outing.
Lord Raines—Elias, she gently reminded herself—waited in the hall, watching her as she traipsed down the stairs. The man possessed such an irresistible smile, with the faintest dimple in his left cheek. How had she not noticed it before? Probably because she found the rest of him just as irresistible and breathtaking, even though she shouldn’t. The stylish, short curls of his thick, dark hair were as sleek as the golden-eyed panther that had entranced her at the menagerie. He held his hat curled in the crook of his arm, looking as relaxed as could be.
The finger sandwiches in her middle twirled at an alarming rate, making her catch her breath.
“Steady, Celia,” Sophie warned from behind her. “Do not immerse yourself too deeply in the game.”
