Tarnished Rose of the Court. Amanda McCabe

course that was what she had thought. But she said nothing.

      “Celia, surely you knew we would meet again one day?” he said. “Our world is too small to avoid each other for ever.”

      “I did think I would never see you again,” she said. “I am a country mouse and you—well, after you left so abruptly I did not even know where you went. You could have sailed off to the land of the Chinamen or some such thing.”

      “I did not want to go,” he said suddenly, fiercely.

      Celia turned to him, startled. His eyes were icy blue as he stared back at her.

      “I had no choice,” he said.

      “And neither did I,” Celia answered. She had tried to wait for him, had believed he would return. But as days and then weeks had passed, with no word at all, she had seen the truth. He had left her. She was alone.

      Suddenly it felt as if a knife’s edge had passed along the old scar and it was as raw and painful as when it was fresh. She pressed her free hand against her aching, hollow stomach.

      “After you left … after I had to marry …” After her brother and the destruction of her family. “I had to marry Thomas Sutton. His family had wanted an alliance for a long time, though mine was wary of them. But after what happened to my brother I had no choice in who to marry. We had to agree to the union.”

      “Tell me about your marriage, Celia,” John said, and she could still hear that hoarse edge to his voice.

      A tense stillness stretched between them.

      It was hell. A hell she had only been released from when Sutton died. She had gone on her knees in thanksgiving at her deliverance. But she couldn’t say that to John. She was already much too vulnerable to him.

      She shrugged. “It was a marriage like any other, but blessedly short.”

      “Is he the reason you wanted to twist my manhood off when you had it in your hand?”

      Celia gave a startled laugh. “I think you yourself would be reason enough for that, John Brandon. And that was not exactly what I wanted to do with it.”

      He looked at her from the corner of his eye, that half-smile touching his lips as if he too had a few ideas about ways she could make use of him.

      “Have you never married, John?” she asked. But did she really want to know the answer? She hated the thought of him uniting his life with another woman.

      “You know I have not. I haven’t the temperament for it.”

      “Who does, really? It is merely a state we must endure—unless we are Queen Elizabeth and can make our own choice,” Celia said wistfully.

      “Yet you will let the Queen arrange a new marriage for you, despite what might have happened in your first?” John sounded almost angry. She could not fathom it—could not fathom him.

      Celia shrugged again. “I have no choice. Briony Manor went to Anton, and I have little dower. I will endure.”

      “Celia …” His hand shot out and he covered her hand with his, holding tight when she tried to pull away. “Tell me what happened with Sutton. The truth.”

      “I owe you nothing!” she cried. “You have no right to demand anything of me, John. And I will thank you to let me go this instant!”

      Her gaze flew to her riding crop, tucked in its loop on her saddle.

      “You want to use that on me now, don’t you, Celia?” he said roughly.

      She jerked against his hand, but he held her fast. It was so infuriatingly easy for him to get her where he wanted her.

      “It wouldn’t be my hand twisting your balls this time,” she whispered.

      Lightning flared in his eyes. “I might let you try—if you told me about your husband. About what has happened to you since I saw you last.”

      The convoy suddenly ground to a stop, and Celia saw to her relief that the gates of Harley Hall, their stop for the evening, were just ahead.

      John raised her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles through the leather of her glove. His mouth was warm on her skin.

      “This is not over, Celia,” he said against her hand.

      Celia pulled away from him at last. “Oh, John. This was over a long time ago …”