Page 10 of His Auctioned Duchess
Richard, throughout, had remained silent. He neither flinched nor sought to impress, his expression unreadable. Caroline, emboldened, shifted her gaze to him. “And you, Your Grace? What shall you offer to prove your worth? Shall you boast of fencing, too? Or will you recite poetry like my gown?”
The attention of the table turned like a tide, every gaze fixed on the scarred duke. Richard set down his knife decisively and looked across at Caroline, his eyes steady, his voice deep.
“I cannot fence as lightly as Cavendish,” he said. “I cannot dance like the gentlemen of Mayfair, nor charm with idle verse.” He paused, his gaze never wavering. “What I can do, my lady, isstand when others fall. Hold fast when others flee. Endure what would break most men. That is what I offer.”
The words were delivered without flourish, without jest—so grave, so unpolished, they rang almost absurd in the glittering room. For a beat, the company held its breath, waiting for Caroline’s reaction.
And then she laughed.
Not mockery, not scorn, but genuine, unrestrained laughter. It rang like bells, bright and clear, filling the chamber with daring music. She pressed a hand to her lips, shaking her head, her eyes shining.
“Oh, Your Grace,” she gasped, “you speak as though the choice were a siege and I the fortress. Shall you endure my wit as you endured war? I confess, I should enjoy testing that claim.”
A murmur of shock rippled, but the sparkle in Caroline’s eyes was undeniable. She was entertained—not by Alex’s fencing, nor by any of the other suitors hovering, but by Richard’s sheer bluntness.
And Richard... Richard felt something shift. The laughter did not sting as he thought it might. It did not belittle. It... intrigued him. He watched her as though seeing her anew—the curve ofher lips, the fire in her eyes, the fearless way she mocked even him, when others trembled to meet his gaze.
A heat coiled low in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. He, who had faced cannons without flinching, felt the first tug of something more dangerous: competitiveness. Not for her dowry. Not for her father’s approval. But for the spark in her eyes when she looked at him.
His scar pulled as his jaw tightened. He inclined his head slightly, his voice low enough for her alone. “Then test me.”
Caroline’s brows arched, her smile slow and daring. “Oh, I intend to.”
The candles flickered as if stirred by the tension between them. Across the table, Alex wilted, his fencing triumph forgotten, as though he sensed a duel of a very different sort had begun—one in which he was already vanquished.
The meal lingered, but conversation dwindled to polite murmurs. The tension between Caroline and Richard sat heavy over the table, like storm clouds gathering above a summer lawn. Even those seated far from them sensed it; eyes darted, ears strained, whispers fluttered like moths at the edges of the candles.
Caroline, however, thrived under the scrutiny. She lifted her goblet, her smile bright, her gaze sweeping the company before landing squarely upon Richard. “We have had duels of words,” she declared, “but I grow restless. Let us have a duel of steps.”
Nicholas choked upon his wine. “Caroline, it is not the hour for dancing–”
She rose gracefully from her chair, silencing him with a look. “Then I declare it is. A ball cannot begin without music, and music cannot begin without dancers. Gentlemen,” she added with a sweeping bow toward Alex and Richard, “I insist.”
Alex scrambled to rise, nearly toppling his chair in eagerness. But before he could take her hand, Caroline turned deliberately toward Richard. Her eyes glittered with mischief, and her voice softened, audible only to him. “Or are you afraid, Your Grace? Does the Devil of the Ton fear the dance floor?”
Richard stood slowly. His gaze held hers, steady, unflinching. He leaned just close enough that only she could hear his reply.
“Is this another of your games?” he murmured, gravel low in his throat.
Her lips curved in a wicked smile. “Of course. Do you not like games?”
He did not answer, but his hand closed around hers with firm finality. A shiver traveled through her arm at the contact, though she masked it with a smirk. Together they moved into the cleared space at the end of the hall, where a small ensemble of musicians scrambled to tune and play, their bows trembling with nerves under the weight of so many eyes.
The first notes of a country-dance struck, bright and lively. Caroline stepped forward, her gown swishing, her inked poems gleaming under candlelight. She moved with elegance, but with a mischief that soon revealed itself: she deliberately misstepped on the turn, nudged his ribs with her elbow during the pass, even let the tip of her slippered foot graze his shin as though by accident.
Richard bore it all in silence, his expression unchanging. But when she attempted a sharper nudge, he caught her waist with one arm—swift, unyielding—and lifted her clean off the floor. Gasps echoed through the room. Caroline let out a startled cry, her feet dangling as he spun her once, twice, his strength effortless, his scar catching the candlelight.
The music faltered as the musicians stared, but Richard did not falter. He set her down gently, his hand still firm upon her waist, his voice low, rumbling like distant thunder.
“I know what you’re doing, my lady. You will not scare me away. I’ve been to war. Your kicks are like a kitten’s.”
Caroline’s cheeks flamed. Her heart raced wildly, too loud in her ears. She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came—only the betraying rush of heat flooding her skin. She dropped her gaze, a first.
Around them, the company was silent, suspended between scandal and awe. Richard released her, stepping back, hisexpression unreadable. But his eyes lingered on her, and in them was something new: a flicker of fire meeting fire.
Caroline, desperate to regain composure, pressed a hand to her temple. “I… am dizzy,” she announced, her voice too quick, too breathless. “Forgive me.”
Before anyone could stop her, she swept from the floor, her skirts whispering against the marble, her head high though her cheeks still burned crimson.
