Page 52 of His Auctioned Duchess
“Your Grace,” she said evenly. “Should you not be charming your guests?”
“They came for the spectacle,” he said. “You provide enough of one.”
Her smile sharpened. “Then consider the evening a success.”
“I would rather consider it over.”
“Are you dismissing your own ball?”
“Only its purpose.”
“And what purpose is that?”
“To parade you before men who are not me.”
She drew a slow breath. “You cannot command who I speak to, Richard.”
“I can try.”
The words were a mix of a jest and a warning, and she felt the tremor of both. Around them, the orchestra began anotherwaltz, but they did not move. They simply stood, two figures locked in battle while the world danced on.
“Tell me something,” she said suddenly. “If I were not the daughter of a titled family, if I had no dowry at all, if you didn’t need an heir soon, would you still want me?”
He didn’t answer at once. The truth warred visibly within him. Finally, he said, very quietly, “Yes.”
She blinked. “That quickly?”
“Yes,” he repeated. “And that is precisely the problem.”
Before she could speak, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing amid the music and laughter, feeling as though the ground beneath her had shifted.
Later, when the guests had gone and the last candles guttered low, Caroline lingered alone in the deserted ballroom. The air smelled faintly of wax and roses.
From somewhere down the corridor came the faint crash of glass—Richard’s temper breaking loose at last.
She closed her eyes. Jasper’s poison still coiled in her mind, but another truth whispered beneath it: she had seen the look inRichard’s eyes, and it had not been the look of a man thinking of heirs.
Still, doubt was a treacherous companion.
She whispered into the empty room, “Do I even know him at all?”
No one answered.
CHAPTER 14
Caroline stood at the top of the grand staircase the following day, her gloved hands folded tightly before her as she watched the familiar family crest roll into view. For a moment, she was no longer the Duke’s betrothed but the girl who had once eavesdropped on her father’s lectures and dreamed of freedom.
The door swung open, and Nicholas Fernsby stepped into the foyer with all the dignity of a man used to command. His hair had grown grayer, his shoulders stiffer, but his eyes—sharp and assessing—had lost none of their power. Behind him came her older brother, Evan, grave and dutiful in his dark blue coat.
He approached her, offering a polite bow before kissing her cheek. “You look well, sister. London agrees with you.”
“London agrees with no one,” she said lightly. “But Ashwood is kind enough.”
Nicholas’s footsteps echoed as he joined them. “Ashwood is more than kind. It is magnificent.” His gaze swept the grand hall—the carved balustrades, the glittering chandelier, the sweep of marble leading into the gallery. Satisfaction flickered briefly across his stern features. “You’ve done well, my girl.”
Caroline’s smile felt brittle. “I am told that often of late.”
He glanced at her sharply, as though to gauge the tone beneath her words. “You might try sounding as though you believe it.”
