Her lips twitched, but no smile came. Her blue eyes were fixed on the path ahead, where a cart rumbled past, its driver whistling.
“I’m merely… walking,” she said, her voice soft, hesitant, her fingers tightening on her reticule.
The uncertainty in her tone tugged at him.
He chuckled and stepped closer, his arm brushing hers. “Walking? You’re practically a statue, my dear. Shall I fetch a bard to serenade you into speech?” His tone was playful, but his eyes watched her closely, searching for the ember beneath her restraint.
She glanced at him, her flush deepening, her eyes flickering with a mix of irritation and something softer, something familiar.
“A bard?” A faint laugh escaped her lips. “You’re ridiculous, Your Grace.” But her gaze darted away, her steps slowing.
Rhys’s grin widened, his heart soaring at her laugh, however small. “Ridiculous? I’m wounded,” he said dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “But that blush of yours, Celine—it’s louder than your silence.” He leaned in, his voice dropping, teasing her to spark that fire he craved. “Care to share what’s got you so rosy?”
Her eyes flashed, her flush now a furnace, her steps halting on the cobblestones.
“Why must you do this?” she asked, her voice sharper, though it trembled. Her blue eyes met his, bright with irritation and vulnerability. “Teasing, prodding—Why can’t you believe that there’s nothing for me to say?”
Her blush deepened, betraying her, and Rhys felt a surge of satisfaction.
He stopped and turned to face her, his boots scuffing the path, his smile softening but his eyes keen. “You want me to let you be? When you’re hiding that spark I married?” he said, his tone light but pointed, his gaze holding hers. “You’ve been… peculiar since we wed, Celine. Not your usual blaze. What’s changed?”
His words were a gentle probe, his curiosity burning.
Celine’s breath caught, her fingers twisting the cord of her reticule, her eyes dropping to the ground, where a stray pebble gleamed.
“Peculiar?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her bonnet shielding her face. “I just. I… I don’t know how to be now, as your wife.”
Her admission was raw, her uncertainty spilling out.
She hesitated, then lifted her gaze, her eyes glistening. “Why didn’t you… visit me last night?”
“What?”
The question caught Rhys off guard. He barely had time to recover when she quickly followed up on her question.
“Not that I wanted you to. Please, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s just… Uhhh, I just… I thought you did not mean it when you agreed to a marriage of convenience.” Her voice faltered, her flush spreading.
Rhys’s heart jolted, her words striking a chord he hadn’t expected.
Did she really expect him to renege on his word?
The thought unsettled him; it opened an old wound he had long since buried.
He wanted to tell her, to explain the walls he’d built to cage the demons of his past. Instead, his charming facade slid into place, a mask that felt tighter in her presence.
“I thought you were relieved this wouldn’t be a real marriage,” he said smoothly, his smile teasing, though his chest tightened. “Or am I wrong?”
Celine’s eyes widened, and her lips parted, her flush now a vivid red. “I was. I am,” she amended quickly, her hands clenching her reticule. “I just… assumed you would not give up so easily. A rake like you.”
Her words were soft, almost accusatory, but her gaze held a flicker of curiosity. Her uncertainty seemed to clash with her defiance, making his pulse quicken. A sharp want—no,needfor her, lanced through him at that moment.
Did she want him to pursue her?
God help him, the desire that flared in his chest threatened to unravel him. A familiar panic spiked, sharp and sudden.
It wasn’t a strange sensation; it felt more natural than his desire for the woman in front of him. It was a sensation he often felt that never made him meet with women twice. It was the reason why his dalliances were always fun and fleeting.Safe.
But with Celine, the panic vanished as quickly as it came, leaving a quiet ache he couldn’t name.
