Free When You're Desired by Tamara Lejeune Page A

in this, if you like.”
    While Eliza was thus engaged, Celia turned to Fitzclarence and whispered, “What do you suppose he wants with me?”
    Fitzclarence shrugged. “How should I know?”
    Celia shivered. “I didn’t realize he was hunting me. I know he cannot resist attacking me whenever we happen to meet, but I had no reason to suppose that he was looking for me.”
    â€œHave you ruined any of his men lately?”
    â€œCertainly not. His officers have learned not to come near me anymore, and I scrupulously avoid them.”
    â€œPerhaps you should have taken a turn about the room with him when you had the chance,” Fitzclarence drawled. “You could have asked him then.”
    â€œThat is hardly helpful, Clare,” she said, frowning at him. “He did not say anything to you, Miss Eliza? Nothing at all?”
    Eliza shook her head. Her money, now securely tied up, was thrust down the front of her dress, between her small breasts. “I didn’t know ’e was the Angel of Death. I thought ’e was a friend of yours.”
    â€œDid he say he was my friend?”
    â€œNo, Miss St. Lys.”
    â€œThen why did you think he was ?” Celia demanded.
    â€œBecause ’e was looking for you,” Eliza explained.
    â€œDid he seem friendly?”
    â€œWell, no.”
    â€œThe monster has been drawn from his lair. I should like to know why.”
    â€œYou did meet his brother this evening,” Fitzclarence broke in. “Could that be it?”
    Celia thought about it for a moment. “You’re right, of course,” she said, beginning to smile. “That must be it. He thinks I am a bad woman. He would not want me anywhere near his precious brother. He means to frighten me off.”
    â€œWell, in all fairness, you are a bad woman,” said Fitzclarence.
    Ignoring him, Celia rested against the seat cushions. “First, he’ll try to bully me,” she murmured, smiling to herself. “Then he’ll offer me money, some paltry amount. I’d be a fool to let the Duke of Berkshire go for less than . . . say . . . ten thousand pounds.”
    Fitzclarence snorted. “Ten thousand pounds? You’re dreaming. You only just met the man. Besides, why should Lord Simon care if you become his brother’s mistress?”
    Celia’s face was aglow with greedy excitement. “He wouldn’t, of course. But if his brother wanted to marry me—! Well, that would be a very different matter.”
    â€œMarry you! Don’t be silly.”
    Celia frowned at him. “You said he could not keep his eyes off of me,” she reminded him. “You said I could make him marry me. Lord Simon must think so, too.”
    Fitzclarence had the grace to look ashamed. “I was only joking you, I’m afraid. The Duke of Berkshire isn’t going to marry you, Celia. Men like that don’t marry girls like you.”
    â€œThe Duke of Bolton married an actress,” she said stubbornly. “Lord Derby married Miss Farren. Lord Craven married Miss Brunton. For heaven’s sake, Lord Berwick married that—that courtesan, Harriette Wilson’s own sister. At least I am not a woman of that kind.”
    Fitzclarence merely shook his head. “Flying mighty high, Lady Icarus.”
    â€œI don’t want him to marry me. I just want him to propose. Then his family will have to ‘pie’ me,” she added, laughing.
    â€œHe may propose to you, my dear, but it won’t be an offer of marriage.”
    â€œWell, he must have said something to alarm his family,” she insisted. “Why else would Lord Simon want to buy me off?”
    â€œHe hasn’t actually offered to buy you off.”
    Her face was glowing with greed and excitement. “Not yet, but he will. If I play my cards right, I might get as much as twenty thousand. Oh, Clare!” She caught her breath. “Twenty thousand