Page 85 of His Auctioned Duchess
He leaned closer, brushing his lips against her temple. “And you’re mine.”
Caroline rolled her eyes, though the smile that tugged at her lips betrayed her. “You do love declaring ownership.”
He met her gaze, suddenly serious. “No,” he said softly. “This time, I mean something else.”
“What?”
He gently tilted her chin upward with his hand, guiding her face to meet his, their eyes locking for a brief, electrifying moment. His mouth found hers once more, moving in a tender, deliberate kiss that spoke volumes.
It was slow and sure, sealing a promise between them that words alone could not fully capture. The kiss was warm and lingering, filled with the depth of emotions they both felt but hadn't yet spoken aloud.
When he finally pulled back, he looked into her eyes, his voice emerging rough but filled with certainty and resolve. “You’re going to marry me,” he stated firmly, leaving no room for doubt. “Tomorrow. Or today. Next week. Whichever comes first,” he added with a touch of urgency, as if the idea couldn't take shape soon enough. It was as if something had clicked for him, making the future he wanted clear.
Caroline couldn’t help it; she laughed as tears of joy gathered in her eyes once again. “You presume much, Your Grace,” she teased him gently, using the title playfully as a way to mock his confident assertion. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of humor and the same joy that bubbled up within her every time she thought of them together.
He broke into a wide grin, an expression that was rare and beautifully unguarded, revealing the genuine happiness simmering beneath his calm exterior. “Only what I already know,” he replied with a wink, his voice teasing yet confident.
She rested her forehead against his, smiling despite herself. “Very well, then.”
His arms tightened around her. “Yes,” he said, his voice a low vow against her skin.
And for the first time, she no longer feared the wordforever.
CHAPTER 24
Later that night, Richard had snuck out of her chambers. The following morning, he informed her father that they would be marrying. Again. Her father was delighted. Again. In a week, or sooner if possible. But before they could talk more, a maid arrived with a letter. Bridget was finally coming to visit.
When the carriage arrived three days later, rolling up the gravel path beneath a mild spring sun, Caroline was waiting at the steps before the horses had even halted. The sight that met her eyes drew an audible gasp.
Bridget descended with the help of a footman, her rounded figure a testament to the life growing within her. She was glowing—cheeks flushed, eyes bright—and her laughter floated through the air as she spotted her sister.
“Caroline!” she cried, her voice still carrying the musical lilt that had charmed half of London in seasons past.
Caroline rushed forward and embraced her tightly. “Oh, Bridget—you’re beautiful.”
Her sister laughed breathlessly. “Beautiful? I feel more like a pudding left too long by the fire. Everything aches and I cannot see my own feet.”
“Nonsense,” Caroline said firmly, pulling back to study her. “You look radiant. Truly.”
Behind them, Richard stood near the doorway, his expression unreadable but his eyes following every movement of his bride. He had heard much of Bridget but never met her. Now, as the sisters clung to one another, he saw something shift in Caroline’s face—a tenderness, almost maternal, that deepened the softness of her features.
He hesitated for a moment, but then he stepped forward when Caroline beckoned him with a gentle and encouraging wave of her hand. “Richard, come over here,” she said with a sense of pride in her voice, “I would like you to meet someone very special. This is Bridget.”
The duke, with a graceful and respectful nod, bowed slightly in acknowledgment of the introduction. “My Lady,” he addressed her with a warm smile, showing his respect and acknowledging her presence.
Bridget, despite the challenge presented by her noticeable round belly, managed to perform a curtsy. It was a bit awkward, given her current condition, but she did her best, showing herpoliteness and acknowledging the duke with sincerity. “Your Grace,” she replied with a playful sparkle in her eye. “I must say, I am quite astonished. It seems my dear sister has worked wonders and managed to tame the Devil of the Ton. I would call it a miracle, surely.”
Richard, with a subtle hint of amusement, felt his lips twitch faintly as he responded. “Tame is far too generous a word, my lady,” he said, his voice light and teasing. “Your sister has merely discovered the art of making me obey her whims. It’s not taming; it’s more like learning the right way to gently point me in the direction she desires.” His eyes twinkled with humor as he spoke.
Caroline shot him a look.
Once they were seated in the drawing room, tea was brought in silver pots that gleamed in the late morning light. Caroline hovered anxiously, adjusting pillows behind Bridget, rearranging the tea tray three times, and scolding the maid for bringing the wrong biscuits.
Bridget, bemused, watched her sister’s fussing with an indulgent smile. “Caroline, dearest, if you flutter about any more, I shall think myself an invalid.”
Caroline blushed. “Forgive me. I only want you comfortable.”
When Bridget spoke of the baby—how it kicked during the night —Caroline’s own heart trembled. She was happy for her sister,truly. Yet somewhere deep within, fear coiled like a whisper she could not silence.
