Page 45 of His Auctioned Duchess
The admission escaped her before she could stop it. For a moment, silence stretched between them—her chest heaving, his eyes unreadable.
He crossed the room, his steps slow but unrelenting. “Would you rather I let them tear you apart with gossip? Or watch you parade before suitors who see only the weight of your dowry?”
Caroline stiffened. “Do not pretend this is some act of gallantry. You're only doing this because you want an heir.”
He flinched, though barely. “That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before you.”
The words landed between them like a spark on dry parchment.
Caroline’s breath caught. “Do not say things you do not mean.”
“I have never been a man for empty words.”
She turned away, pressing her hands against the mantel to steady herself. The firelight shimmered against the gold trim of her gown, reflecting in her eyes. “Then why decide without me? Why rob me of choice?”
His voice softened. “Because choice is a luxury I cannot afford. Nor can you. You think the world will grant you freedom because you demand it so fiercely? They will smile, applaud your spirit, and then sell you off like a horse at market. I would rather give you my name than let another man take your freedom in exchange for coin.”
Caroline spun, eyes blazing. “That is not freedom! That is your pride dressed as protection!”
He stared at her for a long, terrible moment—then exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Perhaps it is,” he said. “But my pride has teeth, Caroline. And it guards what it wants.”
She froze.
He seemed to realize what he’d said only after it escaped him. “Forget that,” he muttered, turning away.
“Forget?” Her voice trembled. “You tell me you want me and expect me to forget?”
“It was not a declaration.”
“Then what was it?”
“A mistake.”
Her throat constricted. “You call that a mistake?”
His eyes lifted to hers, dark and bleak. “When it leads to ruin—yes.”
For a heartbeat, neither moved. The fire crackled; the clock ticked once, softly.
Then Caroline crossed the room in two steps and struck her hand flat against his chest—not in violence, but in fury and heartbreak all at once. “You are the most infuriating man alive!”
He caught her wrist, holding it against his heart. “And you are the only woman who dares to tell me so.”
“Let go.”
“Say you will not marry me.”
She stared up at him, bewildered. “What?”
“Say it,” he murmured, voice rough. “You called me despicable. You want choice—take it. Refuse me.”
“I–”
But she couldn’t. The words caught in her throat, trapped by the maddening contradiction of her heart. She wanted to hate him, yet every part of her still ached toward him—the warmth of his hand, the rough edge of his voice, the truth that he had stood before his family and claimed her as his.
