Page 15 of His Auctioned Duchess
Richard said nothing, but his gaze sharpened, as though he had glimpsed more in her words than she wished to reveal.
“Second,” she pressed on, “you must make me laugh. At least once. Truly laugh, not from shock or scandal, but from joy.”
The flicker of humor in his eyes darkened into something unreadable. “Laughter,” he said slowly. “Do you think me a jester to caper for your amusement?”
She bristled. “I think you a man who cloaks himself in shadows and expects the world to bow in fear. But if I am to marry, I would have more than shadows at my side. I would have light. I would have warmth. If you cannot provide even that, then you are no different from a cage.”
Her words struck harder than she intended. They left her breathless, trembling, though her spine remained stiff.
Richard’s jaw tightened, but still he did not speak.
“Third,” she said, her voice dropping lower, more dangerous for its steadiness, “you will never treat me as a prize. I am not a dowry to be won, nor a conquest to be claimed. If you want me, it will be as an equal, not a trophy upon your arm.”
A long silence followed. Birds chirped in the trees. The ripples of the lake lapped softly against its banks. And still Richard did not move, did not break her gaze.
Then, at last, he spoke.
“You set your rules bravely, my lady. But tell me this—what if I choose not to follow them?”
Caroline’s heart jolted. “Then,” she said, willing her voice not to waver, “you will lose me.”
Richard stepped closer. The air thickened with the scent of damp wool, the heat of his body pressing into the fragile space between them. “Lose you?” His tone was a dark whisper, like a blade sliding from its sheath. “Do you believe I fear such a thing? I am not a boy chasing ribbons at a country fair. When I set my mind upon something, I take it. Do you understand?”
Her breath hitched. Every instinct screamed to shrink back, but she held her ground. “Then perhaps this is your first test,” she said, her voice trembling only at the edges. “To see whether you can want without taking. Whether you can desire without commanding. If you cannot, then you will prove every whisper true.”
His eyes burned. For one terrible moment she thought he might seize her again, crush her mouth beneath his as he had by the oak. But he only leaned nearer, so close his scar brushed her cheek, and murmured against her ear.
“I told you, if you want five weeks,” he said softly, dangerously, “I’ll humor you.”
The word—humor—sent a shiver down her spine. It was no surrender. It was a gauntlet.
He straightened then, towering, composed once more, though his eyes still blazed. “And at the end of it,” he said, voice like iron, “you’ll admit that you’re mine yourself. In fact, you’ll beg to be mine. Then we marry.”
Caroline forced her lips into a smile, her hands clasped tightly before her to hide their tremor. “We shall see, Your Grace. Perhaps in five weeks’ time I shall send you away empty-handed.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, humorless but sharp. “Agreed,” he said. “But you’ll not conduct this little experiment from afar. I will not have whispers and servants playing messenger. If I am to prove myself, you will see it with your own eyes.”
Her brows drew together. “Meaning?”
“You and your brother will come to Ashwood Hall,” he said simply. “You may watch me govern my lands, hear what others say of me, judge me in my own world. Five weeks beneath my roof—long enough to decide whether your challenge is folly.”
Her heart lurched. “Beneath your roof?”
He inclined his head, the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. “You asked for a test, my lady. I am merely setting fair conditions. Unless, of course, you fear proximity might tempt you to surrender early.”
Color rose in her cheeks. “I fear nothing of the sort, Your Grace.”
“Good,” he said softly. “Then we are agreed. Five weeks. At Ashwood.”
The finality in his tone left no room for argument. Caroline forced herself to hold his gaze, though her pulse leapt traitorously. “Then we shall see,” she whispered.
As she met his gaze—unflinching, relentless—her stomach knotted. For though she had spoken with bravado, some part of her feared he was right.
Caroline did not let herself falter until she was safely within Fernsby Manor’s great hall. Only then, with the heavy doors closed and the morning light spilling through the tall windows, did she draw a long, shuddering breath.
Her gown clung to her like seaweed, her hair dripped down her back, and her lips still tingled with the ghost of Richard’s kiss. She pressed her palms together, forcing her racing pulse to steady.Five weeks. Five rules. Five chances to prove himself—or to prove me right.
The echo of his final words haunted her:At the end of it, you’ll be mine.He had spoken them not as hope, nor as promise, but as certainty. And though she had laughed, though she had played her part with bravado, a tremor coiled in her belly still.
