Page 55 of His Auctioned Duchess
Richard’s glass brushed hers with a soft chime. His eyes met hers over the rim—steady, unreadable, as though he were searching for something he could not name.
She looked away first.
The wine was rich and heavy on her tongue, but it might as well have been ash.
Later, when the party drifted toward the drawing room for music and cards, Nicholas detained her with a firm hand on her arm.
“Walk with me, Caroline.”
She obeyed, heart sinking. They stepped into the side corridor, the candles flickering in the drafts. Her father’s expression had softened from pride to something almost tender.
“You’ve done well, my dear,” he said, voice low. “I know this may not be the path you imagined, but you have secured your future. A duke’s wife—think of what that means for our family. You’ll want for nothing.”
“I never wanted for much before,” she said quietly.
He smiled, missing—or ignoring—the undertone. “You’ll understand in time. Marriage is duty first, happiness second. The rest follows.”
Caroline’s throat tightened. “And if it doesn’t?”
Nicholas’s eyes hardened slightly. “Then you make it so. You have my strength, my wit. You will manage him, as your mother managed me.”
She almost laughed at that. “I doubt anyone has ever managed the Duke of Ashwood.”
“Then be the first,” Nicholas said. “But mind this, Caroline.” His tone dropped to that old, commanding gravity that could silence a room. “No more defiance. The wedding is tomorrow. Your reputation—and ours—rests on it.”
He turned to go, then paused at the door. “You’ve always fought too hard against your blessings, child. Don’t make the mistake of fighting this one.”
When he was gone, Caroline stood alone in the corridor, her hands shaking. The echo of his words settled like chains around her heart.
Inside the drawing room, laughter resumed. Someone struck a lively tune on the pianoforte, Sophia’s voice rising in song. But Caroline could not bring herself to enter.
Instead, she turned toward the darkened window and pressed her palm against the cool glass. Outside, the gardens stretched into shadow, and beyond them, the faint light of Richard’s study glowed from an upper window.
He was still awake.
She wondered if he, too, felt the weight of tomorrow.
CHAPTER 15
Each stroke of the clock rolled along the corridors, distant yet insistent, until it seemed to pulse beneath Caroline’s skin. Sleep would not come; she had not truly rested since the vows.
The chamber around her lay silvered by moonlight. The lace canopy drifted faintly in the draft from the half-open window, and somewhere far below, a single horse shifted in the stables. The world was still, save for the clamor inside her.
She was restless. A part of her hoped that Richard would stop by since the wedding was to be held tomorrow, though why she thought he'd come, she did not know.
Caroline turned restlessly in bed, staring at the ceiling molding that glowed faintly in the moonlight.He avoids me,she thought.He wants me bound by duty, not by choice.
The idea lodged like a thorn.
Somewhere above, faint and unexpected, a sound reached her: music—low, uneven, fierce. A piano, struck not with grace but with anger.
She sat upright.
It came from the western tower.
Without allowing herself time to reconsider, she slipped from the bed, pulled a robe about her shoulders, and lit a candle. The flame trembled, a tiny rebellion against the dark.
The corridor beyond was colder than she remembered. Portraits of grim-faced ancestors lined the walls, their painted eyes following her as she passed. The floor creaked softly beneath her bare feet. She moved quickly, her candle throwing long shadows that seemed to twist away as she approached.
