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for bed. Poor Jean tiptoed into the room, probably fearful, by the way Celia had shut her door with such force.
    They went about their evening routine much like every other night though Celia’s head still spun over her earlier conversation with Damien. Worry consumed her. He hadn’t been the one who called her just a friend—she was the one who put words into his mouth.
    Had she jumped to conclusions? Had she acted too rashly and lashed out because of her headache and worry over what was happening between them? At the possibility of losing him?
    Oh, just the thought tore at her soul and made her want to weep.
    Celia sat at the vanity while Jean brushed and braided her hair. She’d already shed her gown in exchange for her warmest linen nightgown. She wanted to go to him. He deserved an apology for her outburst. But she was preparing for bed, certainly not ready for more agonizing conversations with Damien.
    “Jean, could you please fetch my silk robe?”
    “Yes, my lady.” Jean tied off the end of Celia’s braid and went to the foot of the bed, where her cream silk robe lay.
    Celia stood and took the robe from Jean, slipping it on with a quick efficiency that filled her with resolve. Tying the belt tight about her waist, she turned and smiled weakly at her maid. “You may go, Jean. Thank you.”
    Jean nodded and backed toward the door. “Good evening, my lady.”
    “Good evening.”
    The moment the door shut, Celia went to the vanity and caught her reflection in the mirror. She was completely laid bare. None of the usual trappings and fripperies could improve her tonight. No baubles or fine silk gowns, no corset to emphasize her curves. There would be no flirtation or veiled comments. No putting words in his mouth either.
    Tonight she was plain Celia. And she would go to Damien to confess her heart.
    Hopefully he wouldn’t turn her away.

Chapter Five
    Damien pouted like an insolent child. He slouched in the wingback chair facing the crackling fire, glowering, reluctant to admit his sins. He clutched a cut-glass tumbler in his grip, half-filled with liquor that did nothing to numb his drumming heart or his heated blood.
    He was hard and aching for her, and he hadn’t even touched her beyond a brief press on her arm. Yet his entire body pounded for release. His limbs were taut, and muscles strained from the tension. Last evening’s kiss in the hall ran through his mind again. He closed his eyes, savoring the image. Wishing to make merry with the delicious widow under her family’s noses, he was an absolute cad.
    His eyes snapped open. She was angry with him. Livid, really. She’d snapped at him, eyes blazing and lips tight. She hadn’t even given him a chance to explain. He’d been trying to confess his feelings for her, blast it all.
    With a grunt, he brought the glass to his lips and drained it, savoring the burn of the liquor as it slid down his throat and settled in his stomach with a warm glow. Drowning his frustration with spirits wasn’t the answer. Going to Celia and fucking her senseless wasn’t the answer either. She’d probably refuse him.
    Or would she?
    No. The single defeating word echoed through his mind, reverberated throughout his body. It would do no good, sampling the lovely woman who twisted his insides and tore at his heart. Once he had her he would never want to let her go. And above all else, he was honorable. He didn’t indulge, rarely drank and never gambled. He was safe. Cautious.
    Tonight he damned his cautious nature. Cursed his safe actions. What did it get him but enough frustration to make him want to explode?
    He wished to drink more but was too lazy to leave his warm chair and pour himself another. The glass slipped from his fingers and landed on the floor with a thud. It rolled on the thick rug, empty and quickly forgotten as he stared once more at the flames of the dying fire. He saw the sinuous limbs of a certain troublesome woman within the flickering light, twisting