Dunham

Chapter 31

"Ah, another bane of your mad existence."

"Yes," she muttered churlishly.

"And mine. Your bones poke at me, you look sick unto death, and you are in foul humor."

"You have always preferred me fat."

"You are particularly unpleasant company when you are hungry. Food improves your mood. That it also keeps your arse well rounded is expedient." With that, he strode to the door and bellowed for supper. "Lord Hylton's concern," Rafael began as he turned back into the room to find his own wrap, "is that you are well cared for until the end of your days."

This pulled Celia up short. "He has claimed that for the past two years, but marrying me off has never been part of his plan."

Rafael shrugged. "I gather he is displaying an urgency he has not before. Today, his new attorneys finally succeeded where his others have failed. He is casting about for a kind man who will not press you overmuch for your charms."

Celia waved that off. "No title out for a wife would want one who cannot or will not heir for him, much less a madwoman whose tender care he is expected to assume."

"Any title in great need of the dowry he has settled upon you would accede to any and all conditions, then cast them aside once the register is signed. I, an aristocrat who is also a brilliant and respected professor, having a reputation amongst women as a kind man, and in great need of your dower funds to put my estate to rights, am rather perfect for the job."

Celia's anger waned in the face of his willingness to assist her out of this trap she had unwittingly built for herself. "My thanks, then. I have already informed Aunt Harriet I have a tendre for you, so once the contracts are signed, you may spirit us away—"

"Away?"

"Rathbone's here."

Rafael started. "Rathbone? I thought you killed him."

"No. He somehow managed a return berth not long after we ran the blockade. He is in fine fettle and fully enraged. This crusade of Bancroft's to get custody of me is one thing, but if his purpose is served by handing me over to you, then there will be no need to appeal the court's decision. You will insist you must wed me in Coimbra amongst your people, then you will whisk Mama and me away immediately and deposit us in Rotterdam. I can resume hunting prizes until Rathbone has gone back to sea, then return, presenting myself as Condesa Covarrubias with no one the wiser and continue to look for Maarten's documents."

"You have the entire plot plotted, I see," he drawled.

"Did you think I would not be able to discern the direction of your scheme?"

"Ah, but there is one crucial detail you have overlooked," he purred, stepping to her and drawing his finger across her collarbone.

Celia's spine tingled. She knew that tone, the one of victory, the one he used at the end of any given duel to pronounce his enemy's death. "What."

"We will wed."

She pulled away from him, her mouth open. "What?" she whispered, horrified.

"Why are you shocked? Surely you knew I would wed you when the time came?"

When will we marry, Rafael?

Celia, my love, there is no need for marriage between people who love each other as much as we two.

I thought ... We've been lovers for so long ... 

And we shall continue to be so. Is that not simple?