He took her ungloved hand and raised it to his lips, his kiss deliberate, his eyes dancing with mischief.
“That’s another thing,” she added sharply, yanking her hand away. “You said this would be a marriage of convenience, on paper only. So stop this charade. You don’t need to convince me or pretend that we’re courting. It’s a business deal, and it’s settled.”
Rhys’s smile faltered, her words a jab at his rakish pride, though her blush betrayed her.
“A charade?” he said, his tone mock-offended. He leaned back against the desk, his athletic frame relaxed but his gaze intense. “I thought my kisses were rather convincing. You seemed to enjoy them last time.”
Her eyes widened. “No, I didn’t,” she snapped, her hands fisting in her skirts. “This is about necessity—your wealth, my security. Not… not romance. So keep your charm to yourself.”
He tilted his head, a half smile forming. “And your list?” he asked, his voice soft. “That final item—feel alive,wasn’t it? How will you complete it without a… charade?”
Celine’s breath hitched. “I guess I’ll just have to suffer the dissatisfaction,” she said, rolling her eyes. She then turned to the door, the ribbons of her bonnet swaying. “Good day, Your Grace.”
Rhys’s voice stopped her, low and gravelly, sending a shiver down her spine. “I wouldn’t make a habit of it.”
His words were laced with warning, a promise, and something darker, his eyes burning into her back.
She froze, her hand on the doorknob, her heart racing. “A habit?” She glanced over her shoulder, her tone defiant despite the tremor. “Of what? Your nonsense?”
“Of denying yourself.” He drew closer, his steps slow and deliberate, the candlelight catching his dark hair. “You’re fire,Celine, not ice. This marriage may be on paper, but life isn’t. Don’t settle for less than you deserve.”
Her breath caught, his words striking too close. Her fear of marriage, her mother’s death, and her father’s debts clashed with the spark he ignited.
“I know what I deserve,” she declared, opening the door. “And it’s not your games.”
He watched her go, his grin returning, slow and predatory.
“We’ll see, My Lady,” he murmured as the door clicked shut, the ledgers forgotten as her scent lingered like a challenge.
Celine sat at the writing desk in the morning room, drafting a list—not her scandalous one, but a new, cautious plan to tell Helena and Dahlia about her engagement to the Duke of Wylds.
The floral wallpaper glowed in the midday sun, the scent of her perfume lingering on her blue muslin dress, a reminder of her reckless promise in Rhys’s study: a grand wedding, a marriage on paper.
Her heart raced. How to explain it without betraying her intrigue, her fear?
Casual, I’ll keep it casual.
She nibbled on the quill, her black hair slipping from its pins.
The door burst open, and Helena and Dahlia swept in, their bonnets barely removed, their faces alight with purpose.
“Celine!” Dahlia exclaimed, tossing her crimson shawl onto the velvet settee. “Don’t you dare play coy with us. The scandal sheets are buzzing, and we demand answers!”
Celine’s quill clattered to the desk, her blue eyes widening, her cheeks flushing. “Scandal sheets?” she said, her voice light, rising to smooth her dress. “I was just writing… letters. Nothing to fuss over. Tea, perhaps?”
Helena, her curls neat under her bonnet, perched on a chair, her smile sharp. “Oh, please, Celine.The Morning Posthints at a ‘certain spinster’ and the ‘Wild Duke’ in an ‘unexpected alliance.’ Sound familiar?”
Celine gasped, her hands fidgeting with the sash at her waist. “How did that make the news already? Where are the sheets?” she asked, moving closer, her slippers soft on the floral rug. “I didn’t think the news would spread so quickly.”
Dahlia flopped onto the settee and snapped her fan open, her eyes sparkling. “Prattle? Oh, Celine, you’re as red as my shawl! You didn’t just trip into an ‘alliance’ with the Duke of Wylds. Out with it, or we’ll interrogate you till you crack!”
“There’s no need for theatrics,” Celine huffed, though her blush deepened. “It’s… nothing dramatic. I may have… agreed to marry him. A business deal, really. No fuss.”
She waved a hand, as if dismissing a servant, but her fingers trembled, betraying her.
Helena’s laugh was soft. “What happened to your previous take on the matter? You had practically sworn against it.”
“Exactly!” Dahlia chimed in, her tone teasing. She leaned forward, her curls bouncing around her face. “You, the Stone Cold Spinster, affianced to a rake? It’s scandalous! Admit it, you’re swooning over him.”
