Page 50 of His Auctioned Duchess
“And what do you see?”
He leaned in slightly, his breath warm near her ear. “A woman who delights in defiance but trembles when I’m near.”
Her heart stuttered, though she forced her voice steady. “And a man who mistakes curiosity for conquest.”
Their gazes locked again, and for a moment, the world around them dissolved. Only the two of them existed—moving in perfect rhythm, anger and desire bound in every turn.
The waltz quickened. His hand tightened at her waist. Her breath caught, her balance shifted, and she stumbled—only slightly—but his grip steadied her instantly.
He didn’t let go.
“Careful,” he said softly. “I’d hate to have you fall for me.”
She flushed as his smile turned knowing.
When the final chord faded, they stood still for a heartbeat longer than propriety allowed. Neither bowed nor curtseyed. Neither could quite look away.
Applause rippled around them, but it sounded distant, hollow.
Richard released her hand last, his thumb grazing her knuckles before he turned away. “You play your games dangerously well, Caroline.”
“And you play them as though you invented them,” she retorted.
He gave a single, dark laugh. “Perhaps I did.”
Then he was gone—striding toward the far end of the room, leaving her alone amidst a hundred watching eyes.
Caroline exhaled slowly, aware that her pulse was racing and her cheeks burned. She turned toward the nearest open window, desperate for air.
Behind her, she heard the faint clink of glass—a servant pouring Richard another drink.
The music swelled again, the laughter resumed, and the ball carried on as though nothing had happened.
But nothing, Caroline thought, could ever be quite the same again.
The ball went on, bright as ever, but the glitter seemed brittle now. Laughter rang a little too loudly; perfume hung thick in the air. Caroline lingered near the French doors, half-hidden by a sweep of drapery, watching couples whirl across the floor. From a distance she might have looked serene, yet inside, her pulse still stumbled in the rhythm Richard had left behind.
Every nerve in her body remembered his touch—the command in his hand at her waist, the heat of his breath against her ear. But so, too, did she remember the coldness in his eyes when he’d walked away.
Sophia found her first, cheeks flushed, curls loosened by dancing. “There you are! Everyone is asking for you. The gentlemen are forming a queue.”
“Let them form it,” Caroline said. “Perhaps they’ll amuse one another.”
Sophia’s brow furrowed. “Has he said something again?”
“He says plenty without words,” Caroline murmured.
Her friend followed her gaze. Richard stood near the musicians, speaking to no one, a glass of brandy in hand. He looked formidable even in stillness—the set of his shoulders, the perfect precision of his coat. But the muscle that flickered once in his jaw betrayed the temper beneath.
Sophia sighed. “You two could set fire to a room merely by standing in it.”
Caroline managed a brittle smile. “Then let us hope the roof will survive.”
Before Sophia could press her further, a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation.
“Lady Caroline.”
Jasper.
