No wonder it’s gone.
Her fingers lingered onA Stolen Glance, its cover promising a tryst in a moonlit garden. Her cheeks flamed, the final entry on her list echoing, her curiosity about such passions warring with her fear of losing herself.
A deep, familiar voice suddenly came from behind her, low and teasing.
“The Rogue’s Embrace? Bold choice, Celine,” Rhys said, his breath tickling her ear, his presence sudden, warm, and far too close.
She spun around, her bonnet nearly toppling, her eyes wide as they met his. His honeyed gaze glinted with amusement.
Her heart leapt, her flush scorching, her hands clutchingA Stolen Glancelike a shield.
“You’re back already?” she stammered, her voice high-pitched. She stepped back, her muslin skirt catching on a shelf. “I… I was just browsing.”
Her lie was flimsy, her embarrassment raw, the titles mocking her attempt at composure.
Rhys leaned against the shelf, his smile roguish, his eyes scanning the titles over her shoulder. “Browsing?” he drawled, picking upWhispers at Midnight, its cover hinting at a clandestine affair. “These don’t look like knitting manuals.A Lady’s Secret Vow,” he read slowly to tease her further. “Planning to share any secrets, Duchess?”
His voice was light, but his gaze held hers, a spark of curiosity beneath his charm, as if he’d caught her true intent.
Celine’s breath hitched, her fingers trembling, her eyes darting to the floor, where a stray page fluttered. “They’re… research,” she offered, her blush deepening. “For… umm, I’m considering taking an interest in literature. I must have wandered to the wrong shelf.”
Her excuse was absurd, her vulnerability exposed, her heart pounding at the thought of him seeing through her feeble facade.
Rhys chuckled and set the book down, his smile softening. “Research? You’re a terrible liar, Celine,” he said, his tone warm. He stepped closer, his boots scuffing. “But I like this side of you—curious, a bit scandalous. And still no knitting needles in sight.”
His words were playful, but his eyes held a deeper warmth, stirring that dangerous pull she felt.
She swallowed, her gaze meeting his. “You’re impossible,” she said softly, her blush fading slightly, a faint smile breaking through.
Rhys leaned against a shelf, his coat brushing an almanac, his amber eyes glinting with mischief. He picked up one of the books on the shelf,A Lady’s Secret Vow, its cover promising a clandestine affair in a moonlit arbor, and flipped it open, his smile roguish.
“What have we here?” he drawled. “‘Her breath quickened as Lord Everett drew near, his lips a whisper from hers, the garden’s shadows cloaking their ardent intent?—’”
“Stop!” Celine snatched the book, her flush scorching. Her muslin skirt caught on the shelf as she stepped back, her heart racing. “I thought you were getting breakfast,” she squeaked, slamming the book shut. “Clearly, you’re more interested in… this drivel.”
Her eyes avoided his, her embarrassment raw, the novel’s words igniting a spark she fought to douse, a spark warring with her desire to keep their marriage on paper.
“Breakfast? I tried, Celine,” he said, his tone light, his gaze holding hers. “But I couldn’t decide—scones, buns, or tarts? I don’t know what you like.”
His admission was casual, but his eyes probed, a flicker of curiosity beneath his charm, sensing her ruse.
Her breath hitched, her fingers clutchingA Lady’s Secret Vow, her bonnet shielding her face.
“You don’t need to know. I’ll come with you and decide myself,” she muttered, shoving the book back onto the shelf. “And to be perfectly clear, I don’t read these. I was… curious, that’s all. The ton’s fuss over Lovelace’s book—it’s nothing.”
Her lie was weak, her flush betraying her, her role as a duchess still a maze of uncertainty, her attraction to him a secret she buried.
Rhys tilted his head, his smile softening, his suspicion unvoiced but clear.
“Curious? Pity.” He stepped closer, his boots scuffing the oak floor. “Those titles look… enlightening.A Stolen Glance?One Scandalous Night?I’m almost itching to read their content, aren’t you?”
His tease was gentle, but his eyes held hers, stirring a warmth she couldn’t ignore.
Her jaw tightened, her embarrassment surging.
“Enough,” she said, her voice low, turning toward the door, her skirts swishing. “Let’s get breakfast. I’m done here.”
She stormed out, the bell jingling, and led the way to a breakfast nook across the square. Her reticule swung from her hand, and her cheeks burned, her resolve to keep him at arm’s length fraying.
