Celine smiled. “Anne will likely dream of ballrooms and galleries for several days.”
“And your father…” The Duke grew thoughtful. “He seemed… changed.”
She glanced at him, surprised by the gentleness in his expression. “You spoke with him?”
“A little.” He hesitated. “I think… he did not deserve you for a long time. But he loves you. And that counts for much.”
Warmth spread through her chest. “Thank you.”
They stood together on the marble tiles as the last faint rumble of wheels faded.
The house seemed quieter. The air sharper. The moment fuller.
Elias’s gaze swept over her then—slowly, deliberately—as though he were allowing himself a luxury he’d long been denied.
“Celine.”
His voice was lower than before, almost rough.
She felt it more than heard it.
“Yes?” she whispered.
He stepped closer—just a breath, nothing outwardly improper, yet enough that she felt the heat of him through layers of silk and wool.
“We handled today admirably,” he said. “Your family. The scrutiny.” His eyes held hers. “All of it.”
“Together,” she said softly.
“Together,” he echoed.
A beat—charged and quiet.
Then—
“Prepare yourself.”
Her breath caught. “For…?”
“For the night ahead.”
The words were calm. Steady. Almost formal.
But beneath them burned something that made her pulse flutter and her knees feel unsteady.
She swallowed. “Elias—”
“Tonight,” he said, voice low, “we end the waiting. All of it.”
Her heart thudded once—hard and bright.
“Are you certain?” she whispered, though she already knew the answer.
His gaze darkened. “I have been certain for a long time.” He offered his hand—not as command, but as promise. “Go and ready yourself. I will do the same.”
She drew a breath, feeling equal parts tremor and anticipation.
“Yes,” she said.
