Page 20 of His Auctioned Duchess
Caroline’s jaw tightened. “You wouldn’t understand. In my family, daughters are not born—they are traded. And mothers…” Her throat closed around the word. “Mothers die for it.”
Richard’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Die?” he repeated, tone deceptively calm.
Caroline forced a brittle smile. “It’s a family tradition, it seems. My mother went that way.” She stood abruptly, chair scraping the floor. “Perhaps that’s enough breakfast conversation, don’t you think?”
A silence fell. Even Sophia looked stricken, her eyes darting between them. Richard’s mother stirred her tea in careful circles, pretending not to listen.
Caroline rose, her napkin falling to the table. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She turned to leave, but Richard was already on his feet, following her out into the hall.
“Caroline,” he called, his voice hard.
She spun around. “You needn’t pretend curiosity, Your Grace. I sometimes forget that is exactly why you picked me as well.”
He stilled, his expression unreadable. “Is that truly what you believe?”
“What else am I to think?” she demanded, the tremor in her voice betraying the hurt beneath the defiance. “What could have changed so much in a few days?”
He stepped closer, slow and sure, until she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. “This,” he said roughly—and then his mouth was on hers.
The kiss was fierce, claiming, obliterating reason. She gasped as he backed her against the desk, sweeping aside ledgers, papers, and quills with one arm before lifting her onto its edge. Her fingers fisted in his coat; his hand cradled the back of her neck, his breath hot against her cheek.
When he finally pulled away, his lips curved into a dangerous smile. “That,” he murmured.
Caroline sat frozen, breathless, her pulse a wild flutter beneath his touch. Before she could reply, a knock sounded at the door.
“Richard?” Sophia’s cheerful voice came through the wood. “Might I steal Lady Caroline for a tour of the estate?”
Caroline nearly leapt from the desk, smoothing her gown with trembling hands. “Yes—yes, of course,” she stammered.
Richard’s eyes lingered on her as he straightened his coat, his expression once more composed. “Go,” he said quietly.
Sophia waited in the corridor, beaming as though nothing in the world could be amiss. Together, they wandered the long corridors, their footsteps echoing softly. Caroline found herself admiring the portraits that lined the walls—generations of dukes and duchesses in oil and gilt.
When they entered a smaller gallery, she stopped before one particular portrait. The likeness was unmistakable: Richard, younger, unscarred, his expression proud and distant.
Sophia noticed her stare and hesitated. “You mustn’t–” she began.
“What happened?” Caroline asked before she could stop herself.
A voice answered from the doorway, low and unmistakable. “You shouldn’t ask such questions to anyone but me.”
Caroline flinched, turning to find Richard leaning against the doorframe, his gaze unreadable.
Sophia, quick as a bird, bobbed a curtsy. “I shall leave you to it, cousin.” She vanished with discreet haste.
Caroline swallowed. “I was only curious.”
Richard stepped forward, his tone level. “I went to war. Someone tried to kill me. Nothing more remarkable than that.”
Her eyes softened despite herself. “I’m sorry.”
“No offense taken,” he said simply. Then, after a beat: “Take the day to familiarize yourself with the Hall. Tomorrow, we begin your first test—our first encounter, as you call it.”
She blinked, caught between dread and a thrill she would not name.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she murmured.
