She considered kindness, affection, tenderness, love. But what she said was:
“Honesty.”
He studied her. “Honesty. Even when unpleasant?”
“Especially then.”
He nodded, slowly. “Very well. Honestly? You terrify me.”
She blinked. “I terrify you?”
“You’re unpredictable. Unmanageable. You see too much and understand more than you should.” He reached out, adjusting the tiara that had begun to slip. “Three days, and you’ve already upended every routine I’ve lived by.”
“By being ten minutes late to dinner?”
“By existing.” His voice dropped. “By being nothing like what I anticipated and everything I did not know I was looking for.”
Her breath caught. “That sounds dangerously like a declaration.”
“It’s an observation.” He stepped back, breaking the moment. “We should go. It’s nearly midnight and—”
“Let me guess,” she said. “You have a rigid schedule that cannot be disrupted.”
“Actually,” he said dryly, “I was going to say that tomorrow is Sunday, when I review the estate accounts. I hoped you might join me.”
“You want me to review accounts with you?”
“You mentioned being clever with figures. I’d like to see how clever.” He offered her his arm. “Unless you’d prefer to spend the day receiving callers who’ll want to dissect every moment of tonight?”
“Accounts, then.”
As they collected their cloaks, Lady Ashford seized Celine’s arm one last time.
“My dear, you’ve done the impossible. You’ve made the Beast look almost human.”
Celine glanced at her husband—elegant, aloof, devastating—and gave a small, knowing smile.
“No, Lady Ashford,” she said softly. “I’ve merely discovered he was human all along.”
***
The carriage ride home was quiet, but not the strained quiet of earlier. This was full, humming with unspoken things.
“Thank you,” he said at last as the carriage rolled to a stop.
“For what?”
“For tonight. For playing the part so convincingly.”
“Who says I was playing?”
He looked at her sharply, but she was already stepping down from the carriage, leaving him to follow.
In the entrance hall, they paused at the foot of the stairs.
“Celine,” he said—her name softer than she’d ever heard it, touched with a warmth that might have been alcohol… or something riskier. “What you said about honesty—ask me again. Why I need so much order. Ask me on the morrow, in the daylight, when it is safe, and I might actually answer.”
“And tonight?” she asked.
