Page 51 of His Auctioned Duchess
“Sister, I believe Louisa was looking for you. Please, go,” he told Sophia. He appeared from the crowd with a glass of champagne and that same smooth composure that never quite masked the cruelty beneath. His smile was all charm; his eyes, anything but.
“You seem... out of spirits,” he said softly when they were alone. “I would offer comfort, but I suspect my cousin would consider it treason.”
“I require no comfort,” Caroline replied.
“Everyone requires something. Even Richard.” Jasper sipped, studying her over the rim of his glass. “You may think him invincible, but he bleeds like any man. He drinks to forget that.”
“To forget what?”
“Everything,” Jasper said simply. “The war, the things he’s been through. He hides behind duty because he cannot face what’s beneath it.”
She looked away. “Your cousin needs neither your defense nor your pity.”
“I give him neither,” Jasper murmured. “But I am concerned for you, my Lady. You didn’t listen to what I told you, but youshouldbe careful. He wants an heir. Not a heart. He has none left to give.”
Caroline’s hand tightened around her fan until the ivory sticks bit into her palm. “Your concern is misplaced, my lord.”
He bowed lightly. “Perhaps. But when the Devil takes what he wants, he seldom leaves anything behind.”
Then he was gone, swallowed by the swirl of dancers.
Caroline stood motionless, the words echoing through her like the toll of a bell.He wants an heir. Not a heart.
The music blurred. Voices became distant. She forced a breath, forced a smile, and stepped back into the crowd as though nothing had happened. If Jasper sought to wound her, she would not grant him the pleasure of seeing it. She laughed too brightly at Lord Hensley’s next jest, accepted a glass she did not want, and turned the color in her cheeks into armor.
Yet whenever she glanced across the room, Richard’s gaze found her.
It was a look that burned through every defense—a mixture of hunger and something darker, older. A man torn between claiming and retreating. The sight of him set every warning in her mind alight.
Richard drank more than he should have. He hated the taste of brandy, but it dulled the noise in his head—the memory of her laughter with another man, the echo of Jasper’s smirk, the vision of her gown sweeping past him as she walked away.
He told himself he didn’t care, that she wanted spectacle and he would give her one. Yet every time he saw her smile at another, his fingers tightened around the glass until the stem creaked.
Edmund found him near the terrace. “You look ready to duel half of London,” he said dryly.
Richard’s mouth curved without humor. “If half of London would stay still long enough, I might.”
Edmund’s glance followed his cousin’s line of sight. “Ah. The lady. Of course.”
“Don’t.”
“Someone must,” Edmund said quietly. “You’re behaving like a fool.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Perhaps,” Edmund replied, “but rarely by someone who matters.”
Richard turned on him. “You think she matters?”
“I think she matters more than you’ll admit.”
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Richard tossed back the rest of his drink. “You don’t understand.”
He looked away toward the open doors where night wind spilled in, cooling the fever of the ballroom. Beyond, Caroline stood by the balustrade, the moonlight catching on the pearls at her throat.
Richard set his glass down. “Excuse me.”
He crossed the floor, the crowd parting as before. Caroline turned at his approach, her composure flawless.
