“Gladly, my love.” He placed it around her neck.
As his fingers brushed her nape, tingles shot through her, making her draw in a quick breath. After the locket fell in place between her breasts and warmed to her flesh, Elias pressed the tenderest of kisses to the back of her neck. “I love you, Celia,” he whispered. “Please try to love me again.”
“I want to,” she said before she could stop herself. “But I am so afraid.”
He gently turned her into his embrace. “I will never betray your trust again. Not ever.”
She rested her hands on his chest and stared up at him, her darkly handsome panther, the man who could either uplift her or destroy her. “What about your firm? Your integrity as a solicitor?”
“That is not my greatest worry,” he said softly.
“And what is your greatest worry?”
“Losing you forever.”
“If this is not real—”
He silenced her with a kiss that sent her headlong into an overwhelming conflict of doubts and the aching need to be loved. His arms tightened around her, molding her against his hard, muscular body and making her yearn to sink into his embrace and never emerge again. He tasted of truth and sincerity, but above all, he tasted of danger. He knew all her secrets. Dare she forgive him and allow him access to her battered heart yet again?
“I love you,” he rasped across her lips, breathing his emotions into her. “Love me again, Celia. Love me.”
She caught his face between her hands and held him there, her mouth mere inches from his. Staring into his eyes, she willed him to understand. “I have never trusted easily. My survival and that of my mother depended on taking the greatest care. When I trusted you with not only our truth but my heart—”
He cupped her face between his hands just as she held his. “I know. All I can do is continue to beg you for forgiveness.”
“No,” she said, searching his eyes for the slightest hint of betrayal. “Do not beg. My forgiveness will be yours once I learn I can trust you again.”
A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Will you grant me the rest of your life to teach you?”
“For now,” she said softly, then sealed the oath with another kiss.
The loud crack of the front door’s knocker against the brass plate jolted them apart. Celia patted her hair and smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress. She rushed to the window and peered through the lace at the carriage in front of the house. “I am not familiar with that crest, are you?”
Elias joined her, then groaned. “Brace yourself, my lioness. It appears the esteemed Lady Bournebridge has come to call.”
“Oh, good heavens. Mama finds that woman unbearable, and Lady Bournebridge is certain to be even more unpleasant since Mama not only missed her ball but also declined to attend the woman’s Venetian breakfast.” Celia caught Elias by the arm and tugged him toward the other end of the room. “That narrow door over there is a rather winding route to the kitchens, if you wish to escape.”
“I will not leave you and your mother at the mercy of that woman.” He ushered her back to her seat, then took his. “We are doing nothing more than having a pleasant visit over tea. Gransdon has surely gone to fetch your mother.”
As soon as they settled into their chairs, the duchess rushed in through the narrow door Celia had just pointed out. “I cannot imagine why that woman is coming here.” She shot an irritated glance at Gransdon where he waited at the double doors leading into the hallway and gave him a sharp nod. “I wish the ladies had waited to attend the Royal Academy’s exhibition,” she told Celia. “When meeting Lady Bournebridge, it is important to have ample allies present.”
“Lady Bournebridge and her daughter, Lady Temperance,” Gransdon announced, then stepped aside and bowed.
The two swept into the parlor, casting a critical eye all around as if the place might not be worthy of them. Elias rose to his feet but remained silent as Celia and her mother stepped forward to greet the unwelcome visitors.
“Lady Bournebridge, Lady Temperance, how good of you to call.” The duchess gracefully directed their attention to Elias. “Allow me to introduce you to Lord Raines.”
Lady Temperance curtsied, but her mother did not. Lady Bournebridge gave him an up-and-down scowl as if sizing him for a roasting pan. “Lord Raines, yes. He is my husband’s solicitor.” She granted him a tip of her head when he bowed.
“And this is my daughter, Lady Cecilia,” the duchess continued.
“Your daughter?” Lady Bournebridge perked like a cat spotting a juicy mouse. “According to many at the Whitfields’ gathering, this lovely young lady was Miss Celia Bening, your companion.”
Celia bit the inside of her cheek so hard that she tasted blood. Before her mother could counter Lady Bournebridge’s rather ineffective attack with a firm parry, she fluttered away the words as if they were a swarm of flies. “I would not consider the Whitfield party a reliable source for anything. Poor Mama fainted dead away from the overly crowded room and lack of sustenance to ease her.” Before Lady Bournebridge could counterattack, Celia directed them to the sofa while the rest of them returned to their seats. “Do join us for tea. Gransdon will soon be in with additional settings.”
After settling among the cushions like a fat, nesting hen, Lady Bournebridge turned to Celia’s mother. “How dreadful for you at the party. Are you fully recovered now?”
“Oh yes, quite recovered,” the duchess answered with a smugness that made Celia proud.
