The nook was warm, its checkered tablecloths bright, the air rich with the scent of fresh scones and brewing tea. They settled at a corner table, sunlight casting lattice patterns on Celine’s dress.
Rhys ordered scones with honey, his ease disarming. As the server set a pot of honey before them, he dipped a spoon into it and licked a stray drop off the edge.
The act wasn’t meant to be sensual, yet the slow glide of his tongue, the way he licked his lips, sent a jolt through Celine. Heat spread through her chest, her eyes fixed on his mouth, her attraction a spark she couldn’t extinguish.
Rhys caught her stare, his brow arching, his smile teasing. “Why so red, Celine?” he asked, his voice low. He set the spoon down. “Something amiss with my table manners?”
She swallowed, her hands twisting her napkin, her heart racing. “You’re… not acting like a duke,” she sputtered, deflecting. “Licking spoons like that—it’s embarrassing.”
Her words were prim, but her blush deepened, her attraction to him a secret she hid beneath her rebuke.
He laughed, his eyes glinting as he leaned forward. “A rogue, then?” he said, his tone playful, echoing the novel’s title. “Like Lord Everett, stealing kisses? Do you think you’d blush brighter if I tried?”
His gaze probed, testing her reaction, his charm a net she couldn’t escape.
Celine’s breath caught, her napkin creasing, her eyes darting to her scone. “Drop it,” she said, her voice soft but firm, her blush scorching. “Those books are nonsense. Stop mentioning them.”
Her defiance was weak, the attraction she felt warring with the voice of logic in her head.
Rhys leaned back, his smile softening, his tone genuinely curious. “Why not read them, Celine?” he asked as he broke a scone, crumbs scattering. “There’s more to life than history books and chemistry manuals. Why shy away from passion?”
His question was earnest, his eyes searching hers, his curiosity stirring her unease.
She swallowed, her gaze meeting his. “You’re stubborn,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “I don’t need passion. I need… stability.”
Her admission was raw, her fear of losing herself in their marriage bleeding into her words.
Rhys grinned, his dimple deepening. “Stubborn? Guilty,” he said, his tone light. “But I’m glad your fire’s back, Celine. It suits you.”
His words were a gentle challenge, his satisfaction evident, her spark a beacon he cherished.
They finished breakfast, the nook’s warmth fading as they stepped into the square, the cobblestones cool underfoot.
Rhys paused at the bookshop’s door, his smile sly. “One moment,” he said, before ducking inside.
Celine lingered outside, her heart racing, her embarrassment lingering as she peered through the window.
Rhys spoke to the bookseller, a wiry woman with spectacles, selecting several books—The Rogue’s Embrace,A Stolen Glance, and more—paying with a flash of coin.
She overheard him, his voice clear through the glass. “These are for me. I enjoy a good romance.”
The bookseller nodded, wrapping them in brown paper, a stack larger than Celine had expected.
Rhys emerged, carrying the wrapped books, his grin roguish. “Help me hail a carriage. I need to make a stop before we head back to the inn.”
Celine’s cheeks flamed, her hands rising in protest as she stormed toward the inn. “I won’t read them,” she huffed, her skirts swishing.
“You don’t have to,” he called, catching up with her, his boots crunching with each step. “I’m just keeping them in hand in case you stop lying to yourself.”
She spun around, her eyes flashing. “Lying? Why buy them at all?” she demanded, her voice trembling, her reticule swinging.
He stopped, his smile softening, his gaze steady. “I told her they’re for me,” he said, his voice low, a hint of sincerity breaking through. “But I think you might like them, Celine. No harm in a bit of passion.”
His words were gentle, his eyes holding hers, his teasing meant to show his care despite her embarrassment.
Celine’s breath caught, her heart racing, his sincerity disarming her. She turned away and stormed toward the inn, the books in his arms a challenge she wasn’t ready to face. But his care lingered, a warmth she couldn’t deny, leaving her to question her own heart.
Chapter Eleven
