“You’ve gone pale,” Rhys noted when he turned to her. “Don’t tell me you’ve developed a sudden fondness for the countryside. That would be a betrayal.”
She arched a brow. “A sudden fondness for the cold manor and the overgrown gardens? Certainly. London has lost its charm, but one must admire the consistency of the stench. At least it never disappoints.”
He snorted. “Neither does your sarcasm. Are you going to tell me why you look as if you’re headed to the gallows, or shall I guess?”
“I thought you preferred riddles,” she said, folding her gloved hands primly, though her fingers would not stop twisting the cord of her reticule. “Isn’t that why you collect ancient coins and dreadful books?”
“I prefer riddles with solutions.” He leveled those impossible amber eyes at her, then gestured toward the window, beyond which the city lurked like a patient predator. “You never flinched at the notion of a debut, or a Season, or even an engagement ball. But you’re terrified now.” He paused, the rattle of the carriage punctuating the silence. “It’s the wedding, isn’t it? Or rather?—”
“It’s not the wedding,” she cut in too quickly, too sharply. “It’s everything after. And everyone. They’ll all be there, Rhys. Every girl who laughed when I tripped in the assembly hall, every matron who whispered about my mother. Half the ton has waited years to see if I’d expire of shame or simply vanish.”
His mouth quirked. “You flatter yourself. Some only attend for the food.”
She ignored him, pressing on. “You don’t understand. I am—was—the Stone Cold Spinster. My entire worth was measured by failed suitors and withering remarks. If I so much as sneeze at the wrong moment, Lady Worthing will note it down in her diary and distribute it to the entire city.”
Rhys studied her, the jostle of the carriage throwing his features into flickering planes of shadow and gold.
“You’re afraid of being watched,” he said. “Or rather, of them seeing you for who you are.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she replied, but the words landed flat. “I am perfectly happy with who I am.”
“Then why did you insist on the largest church in the city? The most extravagant invitation list, the loudest announcement? You want them to see you, Celine. You want to prove you’re not a footnote.”
His words stole the air from her lungs.
She looked down at her hands, white-knuckled in her lap. “When I was sixteen, I attended the Duchess of March’s musicale. You know, the one with the harpist who fainted from heat?” She tried to smile, but it faltered. “I wore the only blue dress I owned, and it was the previous year’s fashion. I spent the entire evening trying not to sweat through the sleeves. Every time I tried to join a conversation, someone would turn away, as if my breath stank of onions.”
Rhys leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Did it?”
She glared at him. “Of course not. It was the trend, you see. Only diamonds of the first water could speak freely. The rest of us hovered like gnats.”
He nodded, silent.
“The following week,” she continued, her voice steadier, “I thought to impress Lady Helen with my knowledge of the Greek philosophers—her father kept a first edition of Aristotle in the library. She looked at me as if I’d sprouted a second nose and said, ‘Girls who talk about Plato never dance, Lady Celine.’ And I suppose she was right, because I didn’t.”
Rhys laughed then, softly. “So you wanted a spectacle. One perfect moment where no one could look away.”
She met his eyes, daring him to mock her. “Yes. Is that vain or tragic?”
“It’s neither. Or both, if you ask the right people.” He shifted, the bench groaning under his weight. “But you forget, you’re not alone in this circus. You married the Wild Duke, remember? I have made a profession of being stared at.”
She huffed. “That’s because you do ridiculous things, like box the Italian ambassador or appear in Parliament with mud on your boots.”
He shrugged. “If you cannot be invisible, you may as well be unforgettable.”
For a long moment, the city grew larger in the window, the Thames a silver wound threading through the smoke. Celine wondered if she would ever feel truly at home there, in a world where every error was magnified and every hope a target.
“You think I’m weak,” she said, half daring him to contradict her.
He shook his head. “No, Celine. I think you’re afraid to want anything, because if you want it, you might lose it.” His gaze was disconcertingly intense. “But you’re not weak, just stubborn.”
She let out a short laugh. “That’s the first true compliment you’ve ever paid me.”
He smiled, slow and crooked. “It won’t be the last.”
She watched the city draw nearer, feeling the knot in her chest twist tighter.
“Tell me honestly,” she said, her voice low. “Do you think I’ll make a fool of myself?”
