Page 18 of Celestes Forever Marquess
“You are committed to him?” he asked, wishing and hoping he would see uncertainty in her face.
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
Fury filled Caleb, and he pulled her to him before slamming his mouth down on hers. He kissed her, wanting to sear himself to her being. It was a kiss meant to be controlling and dominant. Fitzsimmons may be her partner, but Celeste desired Caleb, too. The thought briefly filled him with satisfaction before it settled in his stomach, wrapped in disgust. He released her, and she stumbled back.
Caleb stalked to her apartment door and yanked it open. He turned back and looked at her, knowing it would be for the last time. Softly and angrily, he said, “Your partner is a fool.If you were mine, I would never give you a reason to seek out another lover, not even a temporary one.”
Sadness filled her face, but he didn’t bother waiting for a response. He walked out of the building into the night. What a damn fool he’d been? Losing his head over a woman whom he barely knew?
He allowed the fury in him to grow because deep down, he knew it would destroy him if he focused on the pain he was feeling. Caleb didn’t have time for that. He was done with emotions of the heart.
***
The next day, Celeste did her best to force the feeling of loss away. She’d lied and hurt Caleb so she wouldn’t break her rule. The thought of them marrying was preposterous. She’d revealed some of her past to Caleb, but not the details on what had driven her to beg for work at the Den.
Her last year with her mother had been spent not just in squalor in Devil’s Acre but living in one of the most notorious brothels in London. The place had been filthy, and the owner viewed women as commodities, instead of people. The government eventually shut it down due to the horrific conditions.
While there, the owner often tried to get Celeste to work for him, but her mother wouldn’t allow it. After her mother died, Celeste had been steps away from giving in to the lecher’s suggestion that she take her place. The Den had saved her from that awful fate.
Celeste didn’t judge any woman for making money by using their body. Still, no lady should be treated the way the women in the Devil’s Acre brothel were. It was still shocking to remember her mother there. She didn’t belong working in suchawful conditions. Hell, no woman did. Before they ended up in Devil’s Acre, her mother had been the mistress of multiple men. But as her mother aged, the protectors stopped coming.
The brothel owner had seemed helpful and maybe even nice at first, but it was all a trick. Anger coursed through her, remembering the tiny, filthy room they shared and the nights she had to disappear while her mother worked. They’d only lasted a year there before her mother died. While logically, Celeste knew her mother had died of a fever, her heart suspected her body could not take any more.
She brushed at the tears flowing down her cheeks. Celeste didn’t often reflect on that horrific time period of her life. It was too difficult. In her desperation, she’d sent more than one message to her father, hoping he would at least provide even the tiniest bit of money. Her missives went unanswered. It ate at her that in her mother’s delirious state, she talked about the boy she loved all those years ago—her father, a lord, who wouldn’t acknowledge their existence.
She walked to the balcony that overlooked the great room of the Den. Her eyes landed on the blonde-haired man who looked so much like her. No, he’d never acknowledged her, not even after she sent another missive after her mother’s death. Lord Burrows won the card game he was playing, and those around him applauded.
Celeste scowled. Now he visited her club, and she didn’t acknowledge him. There were times she’d been tempted to. He knew where she went after her mother’s death. She told him in her letter. Why did he come here now?
Her tears had finally dried, and she would join the guest momentarily. No good would come from dwelling on her past or what-ifs related to the Marquess of Haven. Men like him didn’t marry women who were the by-blows of lords and, out of sheer desperation, had lived in the worst of what London had to offer.
Still, that was only one reason she couldn’t consider his interest. The other was that Celeste would never allow herself to be controlled by a lord, whether as a mistress or a wife. She made that promise to herself long ago, knowing that falling for a peer would only lead to heartbreak.
“What are you pondering over there? You look far too serious, even for you,” Devons questioned, standing in the doorway of his office.
She forced herself to smile. “Nothing.”
He frowned at her. “Did you enjoy the ball?”
“I did actually. I’m glad you forced me to go.”
Devons smiled. “I lost sight of you halfway through the night. Did you meet anyone?”
She scowled at him. “I don’t think that is your concern. I told you I don’t want you playing matchmaker.”
He nodded and stared out at the crowd—his gaze focused intently on one man. Quietly, Devons said, “We could ban him from the club if you wanted?”
Her eyes widened in surprise because Celeste had never mentioned her father to Devons or Derry. “I don’t know what you mean?”
Devons pressed his lips together. “You succeeded without him. You have nothing to prove.”
Celeste did her best to hold back her tears. “How long have you and Derry known?”
“Since the first time you had one of our messengers deliver a letter to him.”
She nodded. “He matters not to me. If I wanted him banished, I would have asked before now.”
“Not all lords are like him. Someday, you will meet a man who will prove that to you.”
