Her words hung in the air, bold and reckless. She jutted her chin, waiting for him to repeat his scandalous proposal.
Rhys’s brows rose, his navy blue coat swaying as he leaned against a display of silk gloves, his athletic frame relaxed but his eyes keen.
“I wasn’t going to ask you anything,” he said, his voice smooth, a hint of amusement curving his lips.
Celine’s stomach lurched, her breath catching. “You weren’t?”
She stepped back, her emerald-green shawl slipping slightly, her fingers fumbling at the counter’s edge.
Of course, his offer wouldn’t stand. She had rejected him, hadn’t she? A duke, even one with his rakish reputation, could find a dozen ladies willing to overlook his past.
Her mind raced, conjuring images of simpering debutantes vying for his title. So why did her chest tighten with… disappointment?
“I mean, good,” she said too quickly, her eyes darting to her sleeve, where she pretended to pick at invisible lint. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.”
Rhys’s lips twitched, his gaze softening as he stepped closer, his boots silent on the polished floor.
“You misunderstand,” he said, his voice low, almost tender.
He reached out, his gloved hand gently lifting her chin, guiding her gaze to meet his. His touch was light, but it sent a jolt through her, her skin prickling under his warmth. His smile was different now, almost gentle. It lacked the cocky edge she’d come to expect.
“I’ve done my part, Celine. If you wish to accept, you need to come to me.”
Her breath hitched, her blue eyes locked on his amber ones, the shop’s bustle fading to a distant hum. The sincerity in his expression unnerved her, stripping away her defenses.
“Come to you?” she managed, her blush creeping down her neck. “You think I’d… I’d chase after a rake like you? After that… that nonsense about being your Duchess?”
He chuckled, his thumb lingering a moment longer before dropping, leaving her skin tingling. “Nonsense? I thought it was rather poetic.” His tone was teasing, but his eyes held a challenge, searching hers. “And here you are, demanding that I ask again. Why is that, Celine?”
“I wasn’t demanding!” she snapped, her defenses crumbling as she stepped back, her shawl catching on a display of fans. She yanked it free, her hands trembling. “I just… I thought you were going to… to bring it up again, and I wanted to end this—this farce.”
She turned to the counter, pretending to inspect a black reticule to avoid his gaze.
“Farce?” Rhys’s voice was closer now, his presence warm at her side, his sandalwood cologne mingling with the scent of lavender. “You’re blushing like it’s more than that. Tell me, are you disappointed I didn’t ask?” He leaned in, his breath brushing her ear. “Or are you afraid you will say yes the next time I do?”
Her fingers tightened on the reticule, her breath catching, her mind reeling. She wanted to deny it, to rebuild her walls, but his words struck her open heart, her uncertainty spilling over.
“I… I don’t know,” she whispered, her blue eyes fixed on the counter, unable to meet his. “I shouldn’t… I mean, I didn’t expect to care.”
Her blush deepened, the memory of her father’s warning swirling with a dangerous curiosity about Rhys’s offer.
Rhys’s laugh was soft, warm, his eyes twinkling. “Care? That’s a start, My Lady,” he said, his tone teasing but kind. “You’re trembling, Celine. Is it me, or does the idea of being a duchess overwhelm you?”
Her heart raced, her hands shaking as she clutched the reticule, her vulnerability laid bare.
“It’s… everything,” she admitted quietly, her eyes glistening, a tear threatening to fall. “I’ve always said I’d never marry, but… now you’re proposing something I’d never have thought possible. My beliefs are warring with logic, and I’m just so tired of fighting.”
Her confession hung in the air, soft and raw. Her shoulders slumped, the weight of the ton’s judgment and her fears pressing down on her.
Rhys tilted his head, his smile softening, unshaken by her fragility. “Fighting’s hard,” he said, his voice low, stepping back to give her space. “You’re not ice, Celine, whatever you tell yourself. Not stone. You’re a woman with a heart that dares greatly. Why fear it?”
Her breath hitched, his words stirring a warmth she couldn’t quell. Her eyes flicked to his, then away, her blush spreading.
“I’m not… I don’t know what I am.” A reticule slipped from her hand to the floor. “You make it sound simple, but it’s not. You’re… you’re always so calm, and I’m—” She gestured helplessly, her hands trembling, her poise a distant memory.
Rhys bent to retrieve the glove. His fingers brushed hers as he handed it back, a spark jolting through her.
“A storm?” he suggested teasingly, but his eyes held a hint of sincerity. “I like storms, Celine. And you’re no debutante fawning at my feet. That’s why I made you an offer—freedom, not a cage.” He paused, his voice softening. “But you’re right. I’m calm because I know what I want. Do you?”
