Page 48 of His Auctioned Duchess
Caroline forced a light laugh, though her pulse faltered. “You must enjoy gossip, my lord.”
“Not gossip,” he said softly. “Truth. You should know it before it breaks your heart.”
Before she could reply, he bowed and stepped back, leaving her with the echo of his words and a hollow flutter in her chest.
She turned away, fighting to steady her breathing.He lies,she told herself.He seeks only to wound.
And yet… wasn’t that the very fear she’d harbored from the beginning?
That she was not a woman to him, but a means to an end.
Across the ballroom, Richard’s gaze caught hers again. The crowd between them blurred and vanished in her mind. For an instant, everything else—the music, the chatter, the sting of Jasper’s words—fell away.
His eyes, dark and unguarded, said what his lips never could:I see you.
She looked away first.
The waltz swelled into a crescendo, a glittering storm of sound and color. The air in the ballroom shimmered with heat, perfume, and whispered speculation. Caroline stood at the edge of it all, the perfect image of composure—though inside, her pulse beat unevenly, the echo of Jasper’s words still clawing through her.
She needed distraction, something to banish the echo of:He needs an heir.
When Lord Hensley approached with an eager smile and a bow that barely avoided clumsiness, she accepted his offer before he’d finished speaking.
The crowd murmured.
Across the room, Richard turned at once.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him—motionless, glass in hand, watching her with a stillness that was more dangerous than fury.
If he had wished to maintain distance, she would test just how far that restraint could stretch before it broke.
Lord Hensley guided her onto the floor. He was a tall man, good-natured but graceless, his steps heavy and rhythm uncertain. Caroline’s smile remained serene as they joined the dance. Around them, silk skirts swirled, jewels glittered, laughter rippled. But her attention was fixed only on one man—the one who hadn’t moved.
As they turned, her gaze sought him through the shifting couples. Each time she found him, the intensity of his stare made her breath falter.
He wasn’t smiling.
He wasn’t even pretending to be civil.
His eyes burned—dark, watchful, possessive—the look of a man waging a battle between pride and desire.
“His Grace seems to be in a mood tonight,” Lord Hensley ventured awkwardly, noticing her distraction.
“Does he?” she asked lightly.
“Indeed. He’s been glowering at the crowd since you entered. I’m not certain whether to be flattered or afraid.”
Caroline laughed softly, though the sound rang hollow even to her own ears. “Fear becomes most men in his presence, my lord. It’s half his charm.”
Hensley chuckled, oblivious to the undercurrent. “And the other half?”
Caroline’s eyes flicked back toward Richard. “Is none of your concern.”
The dance ended. She curtseyed with perfect grace, murmured her thanks, and slipped free of her partner’s grasp before he could suggest another turn.
When she turned toward the refreshment table, Richard was there.
He had crossed the room without her noticing. Now the crowd parted around him as if the very air recognized his authority. He stood before her, towering and composed, but his gaze was a storm barely contained.
