Page 14 of His Auctioned Duchess
Caroline walked quickly across the lawns, her skirts damp and heavy, her shoes squelching with every step. Her hair, loosed from its pins, clung to her neck and shoulders. Yet she carried herself as if she were stepping into a ballroom—head high, spine straight, her chin tilted at a proud angle.
Behind her, she knew Richard followed. She felt him in the space between each heartbeat, the weight of his gaze searing the back of her neck. Her lips still tingled with the memory of his kiss, her body still thrummed with heat, but she willed the sensation away. She would not tremble for him. She would not allow one stolen moment to bind her future.
She slowed her steps at last and turned, forcing herself to face him. He was several paces off, coming toward her with the steadiness of a man who feared nothing. Water still clung to his coat from his plunge into the lake, darkening the fine wool and tracing the breadth of his shoulders.
When he stopped, he remained a few feet away—close enough that she could see the rivulets running from his hair to his jaw, yet far enough that the air between them felt taut, suspended.
His scar caught the morning light, harsher than ever, but his eyes—those unyielding gray eyes—held something new, something she had never seen in a man’s gaze before. Certainty.
“Enough,” she said, her voice steady though her chest rose and fell too quickly. “I will not marry you.”
His brow lowered. “No?”
“No,” she repeated, drawing in a slow breath, bracing herself against the intensity of him. “Not now. Not tomorrow. Not because you say it will be so.” She lifted her chin. “If I marry at all, it will be because I choose, not because passion steals my senses.”
Richard’s mouth tightened, though no word escaped him. The silence stretched, thick with tension. Caroline felt it pressing against her ribs, clawing at her throat, but she refused to falter.
“I will not be swept into fate,” she continued, her voice sharpening, finding strength in the defiance that had always been her armor. “If you want my hand, you will not take it like plunder. You will prove yourself. To me. As a man, not as a title, not as a scarred legend they call the Devil. To me, Caroline Hughes.”
Richard’s jaw flexed once, his scar seeming to deepen with the movement. Then he stepped closer, closing the breath of space she had tried to carve. “And how,” he asked, his voice low, edged with iron, “shall I do that?”
She swallowed, though she prayed he had not noticed. “A betrothal,” she said firmly. “Not marriage—not yet. A trial. Five weeks. Five… encounters.”
His eyes narrowed. “Courtship. You want to be courted.”
The word on his lips sounded almost foreign, but she nodded. “Yes. Call it what you will. I want five meetings. Each one a chance to prove you are more than whispers and fear.”
He studied her, his gaze cutting through her bravado as though peeling back each layer until he found the truth of her trembling core. Then, to her surprise, a flicker of amusement glimmered in his eyes.
"Five entire weeks of courting?" he repeated, his deep voice filled with an undercurrent of laughter he was trying to hold back. “Do you really believe I need all that time just to show what I'm worth?”
She met his amused gaze with a smile that became as sharp as a finely honed blade. “I believe it requires patience, Your Grace—true patience,” she replied, emphasizing each word slowly. “And, even more importantly, it demands humility. If you can't find it within yourself to wait, then I dare say, you are not worthy of me in the slightest.”
For a moment, he stood there, completely still, like a grand statue carved from the finest marble, while his eyes remained locked on her, carrying the weight of someone accustomed to having power and authority. In that long silence, it was as if even time itself paused to watch the exchange between them.
Then, breaking the spell, he leaned in ever so slightly. His breath was warm against her cheek, a tangible presence that added an unexpected intimacy to the moment. "You already know," his voice a low, gravelly murmur, "that I could command you with absolutely no effort at all."
Her pulse leapt, her body betraying her in a shiver that she hoped he did not see. Yet she steadied her voice, sharp with defiance. “But you won’t. Because if you want me—truly want me—you’ll play by my rules.”
Richard held her gaze a moment longer, then leaned back, his scar catching in the sunlight. He inclined his head with the faintest curve of his mouth, though it was not a smile—it was a challenge.
“Then five weeks it shall be,” he said. “Then you’ll be mine.”
Caroline exhaled, relief and triumph mingling in her chest. Yet something in his tone unsettled her, for it sounded not like concession, but like a gauntlet laid at her feet.
The breeze shifted between them, carrying the scent of wet earth and lake water. Caroline lifted her skirts slightly, unwilling to show her shivering legs, but she did not retreat. Not an inch.
“Five weeks,” she said again, steadying her tone until it rang with certainty. “But they are to be on my terms. I will set the rules.”
Richard cocked his head, as though she had just dared to command a king. “Your rules,” he repeated, slow and deliberate.
“Yes.” She folded her arms across her bodice, ignoring how the damp muslin clung uncomfortably. “If you wish me to even consider marriage, then you must abide by them.”
The scar pulled as his mouth curved—not in amusement this time, but in a predator’s half smile. “Go on, then. I should like to hear these conditions you believe will tame me.”
Caroline lifted her chin. “First, you will listen. Not simply stand there like a stone wall while I speak. You will hear me—my thoughts, my fears, my desires. You will not dismiss me because I am a woman or because you are accustomed to command.”
The words rang sharper than she intended, and to her own surprise, her throat tightened. Her father loved her, yes, but even he often laughed her concerns away as girlish folly. And as for suitors—every one of them had looked upon her as they might a gilded chest of coin, nodding absently while counting her dowry in their heads.
