Chapter Eleven

Celia had been watching for the approaching carriage from the drawing room for what seemed like hours. She knew that balls could continue into the early morning hours, so when she finally saw the shape of the carriage come into view, she was startled to see it so early. Celia checked the large clock on the fireplace mantel. It wasn’t even 1:00 a.m.

She hurried from the drawing room, not wanting to be caught waiting there. She didn’t want to see the glow of Lord Banfield’s face because he’d met a beautiful creature he desired to marry. Celia hadn’t been able to forget his half-hearted proposal from the day before. And she marveled at how she had been able to gather her wits and tell him she would not be pitied . . . Yet she found herself wondering if being married out of pity was favorable over not being married at all.

Celia exhaled as she reached her bedroom. As hard as it would be to leave her childhood home, she didn’t want a loveless marriage either. And once the heir was produced, she didn’t want to watch her husband enter into a dalliance. Celia had seen the way that Kate looked at Lord Banfield, and now he’d been in a room full of women who would be more than happy to accept an offer of marriage from a practical stranger. His new position and inheritance would be recommendation enough.

Celia lit two candles. Kate would be able to see she was still awake when she came into the corridor. Still, Celia kept her door open a crack so she could hear the voices of Lord Banfield and Kate as they entered the hall.

The voices were only a murmur, and Celia couldn’t distinguish one word from the next. She shut her door without a sound and waited for Kate to knock.

By the time Kate did knock, Celia had already imagined the entire night. She opened the door, and Kate swept in. It was just as Celia imagined. Her friend had stars in her eyes.

“You look like you had a wonderful time,” Celia said.

Kate grasped her hands. “It was truly magical. I danced nearly every dance, and Lord Banfield was on the dance floor almost as much as me. Dancing with one woman after the other.” She sighed and released Celia’s hands, then sat on the bed, her gown billowing about her.

Celia sat next to her, and for the next hour, listened to detail after detail. She had refrained from asking more questions about Lord Banfield’s experience. When Kate left after wishing her a happy Christmas, Celia’s mind wouldn’t stop racing.

Still, she blew out her candles and drew her curtains open to let in the moonlight. Then she climbed beneath her covers. Her eyes would not close and her thoughts would not quiet. It was then she noticed a folded piece of paper near her door. She didn’t recall it being there before. She didn’t think it was an errant manuscript page from her book since she didn’t fold the paper.

Celia climbed out of bed and picked up the paper. She opened the note and read the single word in the light of the moon.

Library?

It had to be from him. There was no other message, nor a signature, but it could be from no one else besides Lord Banfield.

For a moment, Celia stood still, debating what to do. What could he possibly want? As the minutes moved slowly by, she realized she did want to meet him. Perhaps for a final conversation. Christmas was upon them, and Celia would soon be leaving. They could part on congenial terms.

With this resolve, Celia drew on her thicker robe, then pulled her loose hair over one shoulder and secured it with a ribbon. She opened her door, deciding to forego a candle so as not to attract any attention should Kate still be awake or a member of the household staff take to wandering about.

Celia wasn’t sure what she expected when she reached the library, but it wasn’t to find it dark. The drapes had been pulled aside, and the same moonlight that had been in her bedroom now filtered across the library rug.

Lord Banfield stood at the window, turned away from her, his hands behind his back. He’d shed his overcoat, but he still wore his evening finery, and his broad shoulders were a formidable shadow in the moonlight. Celia had caught a glimpse of him before he’d left, and she had no doubt he’d been considered the most eligible bachelor of the night.

Stanley was laying at Lord Banfield’s feet, and it seemed the dog was too tired to lift its head and look over at her.

She hesitated in the doorway, second guessing her decision to come into the library for a private meeting. Would Lord Banfield renew his offer, and she’d be forced to turn him away again? Or would he announce his infatuation with one of the women he’d met tonight?

Lord Banfield turned and saw her. It was now too late to disappear. He said nothing for a moment, then he crossed to her. Celia watched his dark form moving closer. The dimness of the room made her heart race—surely it wasn’t anything else. She wasn’t afraid of this man, and whatever he wanted to meet about, she could manage it in a dignified manner.

But when his hand grasped hers, her resolve to be dignified melted. His gloveless fingers were warm and strong, and her mind became a whirl as he led her to the window. For once, the dog didn’t seem to mind her presence. There was no growling or barking. Stanley simply closed his eyes. The moonlight was brighter next to the window where Lord Banfield stopped and looked down at her.

His eyes were hooded, and without letting go of her hand, he leaned close enough that she could smell brandy and musk.

“You were missed this evening,” Lord Banfield said in a low voice.

“Oh.” Celia exhaled. Her heart was thudding so loudly that she wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. “I heard it was a wonderful ball.”

“I supposed it had the makings of a wonderful ball,” he said, and Celia wondered why he was still holding her hand.

“But you weren’t there,” he continued. “And I realized something . . .”

When he didn’t continue, Celia said, “You realized what?”

His intense gaze was making Celia feel a bit lightheaded. And when he touched the ends of her hair with his other hand, she thought she might sway against him.

“I realized that I missed you,” he said. “I realized the only woman I wanted to dance with wasn’t at the ball. She was home at Banfield.”

Celia swallowed.

“I want to try something,” he whispered.

“What?” she whispered back, although she was fairly certain what he was about to try.

When his lips brushed against hers, she decided she must have fallen asleep and was now dreaming. But then his hand tangled in her hair, and his other hand wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her closer. His kissing was slow and urgent at the same time, and Celia definitely knew she wasn’t dreaming because she’d never been kissed before. And she could have never dreamt that she could feel this way—like she was both floating above ground and swimming in a deep pool of warm water at the same time.

She kissed him back, although she was only following his lead since she wasn’t sure she was any good at this. Yet every part of her tingled, and she grasped onto his jacket to hold herself upright. And the way his kissing turned deeper and more urgent, told her that she might be doing something right.

She didn’t want this to end, didn’t want him to release her. When he did draw away, she wanted to pull him toward her again. She’d never be the same. No matter what happened after tonight. And even though she now knew what it was like to be kissed, she doubted she could capture the right words or right description in her novel.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, his hands at her waist, his smell all around her. “I don’t pity you.” He lifted a hand and ran a thumb along her jaw. She felt the sensation reverberate through her body.

“You told me you would never marry,” he continued. “I want to know why.”

Celia had hardly caught her breath, but she stepped away from him, because as lovely as it had been kissing him, she wasn’t his intended. He dropped his arms, and she felt the loss of his warmth as if a blanket had been pulled off her on a cold night.

“I didn’t want to be married for my dowry. With this hair”—she touched her hair—“and these freckles”—she touched her neck—“I have heard the whisperings of how a girl as plain as me would be lucky to get one proposal.”

She held up her hand when he took a step closer. “You can’t think you want to marry me, Lord Banfield. I don’t want your charity, and—”

“It’s not charity, Celia,” he said, grasping her hand.

She pulled her hand away because she’d forget herself again. “You can’t love me. We’ve only just met, and a marriage should be based on more than pity.”

He didn’t try to take her hand again, but he did move closer. “I am sorry for your losses,” he said, “but it’s not the pity you’re thinking of. I lost my parents as well, and even though I never had a sibling, I understand loss.”

“I know,” Celia said. “And I thank you for your compassion.”

“As for the question of whether my proposal is one of love, I can only say that tonight at the ball I realized I only wanted to be with you.”

She let those words sink into her heart and felt the small flare of hope.

“Maybe I can’t give a pretty speech about love right now,” he continued in a quiet voice, “but me missing you has to count for something. And . . . that kiss . . .”

Her cheeks heated. That kiss had been quite divine. “You don’t mind my freckles?”

He moved even closer and lowered his head. When he kissed her at the base of her neck, a warm shiver traveled through her. “I don’t mind.”

She wanted to cling to him, melt against him, let her hopes soar . . . “Our children would be redheads.”

He chuckled, and the rumbling laugh made her feel light.

“My grandmother was a redhead,” he said. “I suppose it runs in the family.”

And then he was kissing her again, or perhaps she was kissing him. The second time around was even better, she decided.

“So . . .” he said when they broke apart.

“So . . .” she echoed.

He smiled, then said, “I have a present for you. I was going to wait until Christmas, but since it’s now Christmas Day, I think it would be all right.”

“It would definitely be all right.”

He left her then, by the window, and Celia wrapped her arms about herself as she waited. She looked down at Stanley, who’d been witness to everything that had happened tonight. It seemed that the dog’s nonchalance was his approval.

When Lord Banfield came back into the library, her heart leapt at the sight of him. How could she have missed him in such a short amount of time? He carried a wrapped rectangular package.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she said.

He only smiled. “Call me Aaron. That will be gift enough.”

She returned his smile. “Aaron.”

He chuckled. “Open it.”

So she opened the package on the small side table near the drapes. Inside she found a long, narrow wooden box. When she opened it, she saw two quills, and a small ink bottle, along with another bottle of clear liquid.

“It’s not much, but I thought you might find use for the quills.”

For her writing, she knew. She turned to face him. “Thank you.”

“The clear liquid is supposed to clean off ink stains from fingers,” he said.

“When did you get this?” she asked, looking up.

“Before you turned down my proposal of marriage.”

She hid a smile. “And you would have kept it if . . .”

“I still would have given it to you,” he said, leaning down and kissing her cheek, and lingering. “Maybe I would have sneaked it into your luggage or something.” He lifted his head, his gaze locking onto hers. “Celia . . . I don’t want you to leave.”

“Because you want me to stay?”

He nodded, then smiled.

“And you still want me to marry you?”

Aaron’s smile spread. “Of course.”

“So you can learn to love me?”

He slipped his hands about her waist and drew her close. “That will be the easy part.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Please tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

Celia closed her eyes, reveling in his hands at her waist, the sound of her thudding heart, and how she felt as if life had become sweet again. “I’ve changed my mind,” she whispered. “But I have one demand.”

His lips curved upward. “Anything.”

“The dog can’t sleep in the bedroom.”

Aaron chuckled. “That’s your demand?”

“Stanley is nice enough, I suppose,” she teased. “At least he no longer growls at me. But I want you to myself at night.”

“If you’re going to put it that way, then I must agree,” he said.

She wrapped her arms about his neck. “Good. I’m pleased.”

His hands moved up her back and pulled her closer. “I want to please you, Celia. Now and always.”

“Then kiss me again, Aaron.”

And he did.