Page 59 of His Auctioned Duchess
Richard’s breath caught; the pulse in his throat jumped. He took one step forward, then another, until only inches separated them.
“Caroline,” he said softly, almost a warning.
“Yes?”
His hand rose of its own accord, rough fingers catching beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
The question that left him sounded more like a plea than command. “Can you be that woman, Caroline? The one who does not flinch when the world darkens? The one who trusts me enough to not run away?”
Her lips parted; the heat of his breath brushed her cheek. “Trust?” she whispered.
He nodded once. “Trust me. Trust in me.”
The words trembled between them, equal parts vow and challenge.
She did not answer. She could not. Every nerve in her body seemed suspended between terror and yearning.
Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat, but she didn’t flinch. “And if I can’t?”
“Then you will walk away now,” he said. “And I will let you.”
She searched his face, the candlelight catching in his eyes, and saw that he meant it. Beneath the hard lines of command lay something more dangerous than anger—sincerity.
The clock below struck once, marking the hour.
Caroline’s lips parted, but no sound came.
Outside, the wind rattled the windows; the candle flared once, then steadied.
Caroline’s heart clutched with confusion, fear, and something that might have been longing.
Neither spoke again.
When Richard finally stepped back, his voice was quiet, almost reverent.
“Think carefully, Duchess,” he murmured. “Because when you give your answer, it will bind us both.”
The silence that followed seemed to fill the entire tower.
Caroline’s heart pounded so loudly she thought he might hear it. Her fingers trembled, not from weakness but from the weight of the moment.
And then, slowly—so slowly she wasn’t sure she moved at all—she nodded once.
Richard’s eyes closed briefly, as though her silence were an answer all its own.
When he opened them again, Caroline was already walking away.
CHAPTER 16
The sun rose without mercy.
Its pale gold light crept through the damask curtains and across the bed where Caroline lay wide-eyed and unmoving. The chirping of sparrows in the ivy outside sounded too cheerful, their careless music a cruel contrast to the heaviness pressing against her chest. She remained still, staring up at the ceiling as though she could will the day to end before it began.
It was her wedding morning.
The thought alone made her stomach twist. She had always imagined her wedding, if it must come at all, as something fierce and bright—a storm of laughter and independence, a defiant choice of her own making. Not this. Not a ceremony built on bargains and bloodlines.
A brisk knock rattled the door before she could sink further into dread.
