A silence, brief and charged, followed.
He broke it first, turning back to the mortar. “The children miss you, you know.”
She snorted. “They left not two hours ago. I’m sure they’re halfway to terrorizing the next house by now.”
He set the pestle aside, careful not to stain his cuff. “Mrs. Wentworth said that Marcus asked if they could visit again before the summer’s end.”
Celine shrugged, but her ears pinkened. “They are easily amused, that’s all.”
He shook his head. “You’re good with them. I can barely keep the twins from scalping each other, but you had them behaving within a minute.”
She looked down, fussing with the vials. “My mother never allowed children in the house. Not even for holidays. I suppose I wanted to see what it was like.”
A beat passed.
Rhys leaned in, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “And what was it like?”
She looked up, surprised at how close his face was to hers. “Loud. Messy. Confusing.”
He grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
She laughed. “And strangely… pleasant.” She bit her lip. “I did not expect that.”
He reached out, almost unconsciously, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her cheek. The touch lingered, just long enough for her to go still, her eyes darkening in the late sunlight.
“There are worse fates,” he said quietly.
She let out a long breath. “You’re not at all what I expected.”
He leaned in, unable to help himself. “And what did you expect, Celine?”
She held his gaze, her voice soft. “A wild duke. A rake. A man who never thought of anything but himself.”
He feigned offense. “You wound me.”
She smiled. “And yet you serve children tea and rescue ladies from their own incompetence with cutlery.”
He tilted his head, studying her. “I’ve traveled a great deal, you know. Paris, Cairo, Vienna, and so on. And everywhere I went, I met someone who surprised me. A bookseller in Budapest who’d memorized every poem in Latin. A corsair in Malta who could sew finer than any tailor in London. The world is… unexpected, if you pay attention.”
She rubbed her chin, thoughtful. “And what have you learned from your travels?”
He smiled, but it faded quickly. “That people are always more complicated than they appear. That it’s never as simple as what the world says or what you think you know.”
They were close now. He could see the shape of her breath as she held it, waiting.
He reached out, careful and slow, and took her good hand in his. “So, Duchess, tell me your story. Who is Celine Huntington, really?”
Her lips parted as if to answer, but at that instant, the door banged open, and the butler appeared, his face ashen. “Forgive me, Your Grace—an urgent message from the stables. They require your presence at once.”
Rhys dropped her hand, masking his irritation with a curt nod. “Of course, Grayson. I’ll be right there.” He turned to Celine. “Duty calls. But don’t think you’ve escaped the question. I’ll have an answer, one day.”
She gave a smile, a genuine one this time, and he left the room with his heart thudding.
Chapter Sixteen
Celine had tried to lose herself in her novel—A Lady’s Secret Vow— but the words blurred, refusing to make sense. The manor felt too large around her. Every thought was too confusing to decipher.
The door opened, and Mary appeared, balancing a tray with a teapot and cups, her steps careful on the rug.
