Page 36 of His Auctioned Duchess
Lady Ophelia, ever the peacemaker, tapped her son’s arm. “You must admit, Richard, the evening was a triumph. Half the ton will be talking of your return for weeks.”
“Let them,” Richard said.
Louisa’s laugh chimed like crystal. “They will, of course, but for once not in condemnation. You have managed to look positively civilized.”
“I am reformed,” he said dryly.
The remark drew a ripple of laughter, but Caroline heard only the echo of it—the same deep voice that had murmured against her lips moments ago. Her cheeks warmed again, and she turned abruptly to retrieve her fan.
From the corner of her eye she saw Jasper watching her, his gaze sharp, cold.
Something passed between the two men—so subtle that no one else seemed to notice. Richard’s expression remained composed, but his hand tightened on his gloves until the leather creaked.
“Come, then,” Lady Ophelia said, rising. “The carriage will be waiting.”
As they made their way through the throng of departing guests, Caroline felt the weight of the crowd pressing in. Everywhere she looked, faces turned, whispers flitted.The Duke of Belford with a lady. His companion is new. Poor girl, she’ll learn.
At the foot of the grand staircase, Richard offered his arm once more. She hesitated only a second before taking it. The simple touch sent an unwelcome shiver through her.
Outside, the night air was cool and fragrant with rain. The street glittered with lamplight reflecting off wet cobblestones, the coaches lined in neat rows. A thin mist hung about the wheels, swirling with each movement.
As they waited for their carriage, Louisa leaned toward Richard with a smile that was all polite charm. “I had forgotten how the music draws you in. You kept time perfectly. Have you truly not played in years?”
“No,” Richard said.
Caroline forced herself to look at Louisa, to keep her expression neutral. “How impressive that you should remember his playing so vividly,” she said lightly.
Louisa blinked, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Oh, everyone at Belford Park remembers those evenings. He was the pride of every hostess.”
“Indeed,” Caroline murmured.
Sophia, oblivious to the tension, clapped her hands. “Then we must have music at Ashwood! Richard, you shall play for us–”
“Never again,” he said, cutting her off. The words were quiet, but final.
Sophia pouted. “You say that about everything that once gave you joy.”
He didn’t answer.
The silence that followed was thick enough to feel. Caroline stared straight ahead, the muscles in her jaw aching from restraint.
When the carriage at last rolled forward, Richard handed his mother in, then Louisa and Sophia. Caroline followed, aware of Jasper’s eyes still fixed on her. She had never seen jealousy in a man look so disdainful. But she knew one thing: she wasnot wrong to feel…something over Louisa’s comment, since the lady’s husband seemed to agree with her.
Inside the carriage, Lady Ophelia began a gentle conversation about the performance—its music, the soprano’s dazzling voice—but Caroline barely heard her. Every movement, every brush of fabric reminded her of what had transpired beyond those marble walls.
When Richard finally spoke, his voice was calm. “We will return to the countryside tomorrow.”
Louisa looked up. “So soon?”
“I have business.”
Caroline turned her gaze toward the window, hiding her face. She could see their reflection in the glass—the Duke’s impassive profile, Louisa’s elegant poise, Sophia’s chatter, her own stillness caught between them all.
In that reflection, she realized how precarious her position truly was.
She had told herself she could match him—move through his world of power and silence as his equal. Yet tonight, one careless glance, one teasing remark, had unraveled her resolve entirely.
The memory of his mouth on her still burned. The humiliation of losing control—the very thing she prided herself on—cut deeper than she cared to admit.
