ever since. Because I fear your warning can only have referred to Viscount Darling.”
“He has been my friend, Miss Burke, through fire and water, but I cannot condone what he does. He has forgotten himself as a gentleman.”
“Yes, that I understand, but, can you tell me why? Why me?”
“He set the bet, he says, because of his sister.”
The note said he knew what she and Emily had done, and he would tell everyone and ruin their reputations. He would threaten to blacken his own sister’s name? It made no sense. But what had McAlden just said? “A bet? He has already made it public with a wager ?” Her voice was an incredulous whisper.
Celia felt her stomach drop into her slippers. It was infamous. Outrageous. He was blackmailing her and making it public?
The aristocratic bastard. Her mama was right. Celia could recognize nothing of Colonel Delacorte, the man of Emily’s letters, in him. He had grown careless of other people. He had become just as heedless and ratchety as her mama had accused. Wagering with her reputation. And his sister’s. “Of all the unmitigated cads. How dare he?”
“It was a private wager. Between only the two of us. I beg you would believe me, Miss Burke, I did not agree to take the bet. For his sake, I must tell you I don’t believe he will ruin you in reality—physically.” Commander McAlden’s ears turned red, and his cheeks grew high spots of color in his embarrassment to speak of such a thing. “I think he rather means it . . . metaphorically.”
Celia felt a flush flame across her cheeks and down her neck and chest, and knew she must be as red as he. But she could not afford to be anything less than resolute. “You must explain yourself, Commander.”
The Commander looked back up the corridor and lowered his head to speak quietly. “He was very clear. He meant to seduce and ruin you without once touching you. Those were his exact words, so he must mean to toy with your emotions, to engage your heart, and then abandon you. But without ever once touching you. He was very clear. Miss Burke? Miss Burke, you’re not going to faint on me, are you?”
“Well. I only wish I could.” Though her legs did feel a bit rubbery. She sat abruptly in a chair along the wall. “I’m too sensible.”
“Shall I get you a glass of water perhaps, or wine?”
“Yes, please.” She wanted to be alone. She wanted no one, not even Commander McAlden to witness her distress and her humiliation.
Her impression of Viscount Darling had been exact. He did think she was too skinny a Christian to bother eating. He couldn’t even deign to seduce her properly so she might have gotten some enjoyment out of her ruination. If she ever saw him again she would slap him. She would slap him so hard her hand would leave a print across his face like a marker that said this man is a cad .
A footman brought her a glass of sherry on a tray. Perhaps the Commander was too afraid to find her crying to return. Well, she wasn’t about to cry. She was too shocked for that. And too angry. She tossed the sherry down in a single, fiery bolt, and gasped for air. Goodness! No wonder they called it liquid courage.
But the warm, glowing sensation inside was heating her resolve.
She’d like to teach Viscount Darling a thing or two, to show him he couldn’t use people so carelessly. He couldn’t use her so carelessly. By heaven’s name, she was The Ravishing Celia Burke and he would do well to remember it. She had talents and ambitions that were not about to be stopped by some arrogant, self-important lion of a lordling.
Let him roar and pace in his cage. The Christians weren’t without their armor. Strength came from knowledge. Per Scientiam Vires . Now that she knew his strategy, she could combat it. Her strengths were honesty and openness. If she used the truth, all the guile in the world would not help him. He would have nothing to combat such weapons.
Resolved, Celia rose, shook out her skirts, and
“He has been my friend, Miss Burke, through fire and water, but I cannot condone what he does. He has forgotten himself as a gentleman.”
“Yes, that I understand, but, can you tell me why? Why me?”
“He set the bet, he says, because of his sister.”
The note said he knew what she and Emily had done, and he would tell everyone and ruin their reputations. He would threaten to blacken his own sister’s name? It made no sense. But what had McAlden just said? “A bet? He has already made it public with a wager ?” Her voice was an incredulous whisper.
Celia felt her stomach drop into her slippers. It was infamous. Outrageous. He was blackmailing her and making it public?
The aristocratic bastard. Her mama was right. Celia could recognize nothing of Colonel Delacorte, the man of Emily’s letters, in him. He had grown careless of other people. He had become just as heedless and ratchety as her mama had accused. Wagering with her reputation. And his sister’s. “Of all the unmitigated cads. How dare he?”
“It was a private wager. Between only the two of us. I beg you would believe me, Miss Burke, I did not agree to take the bet. For his sake, I must tell you I don’t believe he will ruin you in reality—physically.” Commander McAlden’s ears turned red, and his cheeks grew high spots of color in his embarrassment to speak of such a thing. “I think he rather means it . . . metaphorically.”
Celia felt a flush flame across her cheeks and down her neck and chest, and knew she must be as red as he. But she could not afford to be anything less than resolute. “You must explain yourself, Commander.”
The Commander looked back up the corridor and lowered his head to speak quietly. “He was very clear. He meant to seduce and ruin you without once touching you. Those were his exact words, so he must mean to toy with your emotions, to engage your heart, and then abandon you. But without ever once touching you. He was very clear. Miss Burke? Miss Burke, you’re not going to faint on me, are you?”
“Well. I only wish I could.” Though her legs did feel a bit rubbery. She sat abruptly in a chair along the wall. “I’m too sensible.”
“Shall I get you a glass of water perhaps, or wine?”
“Yes, please.” She wanted to be alone. She wanted no one, not even Commander McAlden to witness her distress and her humiliation.
Her impression of Viscount Darling had been exact. He did think she was too skinny a Christian to bother eating. He couldn’t even deign to seduce her properly so she might have gotten some enjoyment out of her ruination. If she ever saw him again she would slap him. She would slap him so hard her hand would leave a print across his face like a marker that said this man is a cad .
A footman brought her a glass of sherry on a tray. Perhaps the Commander was too afraid to find her crying to return. Well, she wasn’t about to cry. She was too shocked for that. And too angry. She tossed the sherry down in a single, fiery bolt, and gasped for air. Goodness! No wonder they called it liquid courage.
But the warm, glowing sensation inside was heating her resolve.
She’d like to teach Viscount Darling a thing or two, to show him he couldn’t use people so carelessly. He couldn’t use her so carelessly. By heaven’s name, she was The Ravishing Celia Burke and he would do well to remember it. She had talents and ambitions that were not about to be stopped by some arrogant, self-important lion of a lordling.
Let him roar and pace in his cage. The Christians weren’t without their armor. Strength came from knowledge. Per Scientiam Vires . Now that she knew his strategy, she could combat it. Her strengths were honesty and openness. If she used the truth, all the guile in the world would not help him. He would have nothing to combat such weapons.
Resolved, Celia rose, shook out her skirts, and
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