“Because I discovered the theater. And once you have heard Shakespeare whispered beneath candlelight, the cloister loses all its charm.”
Lady Evelyn smiled dreamily. “Oh, how perfectly romantic. I wish I could have been raised in poetry. When you debut in London, you shall be the greatest gem of the season, I just know it! All the other debutantes will be green with envy. You will have throngs of suitors.”
Celeste gripped her skirts. All the suitors. Except for the only one that mattered.
The duke smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. “I only hope you won’t treat them harshly.”
Leighton placed his hand above her. She startled, and her gaze leaped to his. She could not allow Portia’s mask to slip. It took all her willpower not to flinch.
“I won’t be harsh at all. A gentleman who wishes to win my favor must answer one simple question.” Smiling, Celeste pulled away from his touch.
The duke watched Celeste, his gaze brimming with admiration. It was almost heady to be regarded so reverently and not with the theater’s patrons’ open lust.
“And what is this all-important question?”
Now she would prove that Alexander was wrong in his choice of suitor. No matter how handsome and titled, this duke could not know what she wanted for life.
Celeste tilted her head. “What is love?”
Leighton smiled. “Love is the sun itself. Golden, brilliant, the source of all life.”
Celeste exhaled. She knew he would get it wrong. “The sun is too distant. Too untouchable.”
Leighton leaned in slightly, lowering his voice, as if revealing some grand secret. “Love is poetry. Each verse sweeter than the last, echoing in our hearts long after the words are spoken.”
Celeste forced herself not to lean back. The answer was beautiful. “Words are wind.” She lowered her eyes. Her hand still tingled with Hawk’s touch. “And I cannot hold the wind.”
And if before love had been nothing more than a promise on a page, now she knew better. Love was heat and lips and muscles and breath.
Nicki scoffed, arms crossing. The way he glared at the duke left no doubt. These two were not friends.
“What about you, Nicki? Won’t you take a chance on defining what love is?”
He just looked at her, assessing. His gaze didn’t skim over her the way Leighton’s did. It lingered. Too long. It was as if her Portia act was merely a veil, and he saw right into Papillon’s core.
“A soldier has no time for courtly love.”
Her smile faded. Indeed, they had not. If they had, she would not be here, sitting with this blond “dose of man,” Hawk’s choice of suitor. She would be by Hawk’s side. Kissing him. Teasing him. Hoping he could see real Celeste and love her, and she could stop playing a part.
“Never mind Nicki, Lady Cecilia. He is the most promising officer of our age. He’s more interested in courting Lord Wellington than in our island’s most charming female.”
Nicki’s expression became thunderous, and his hand slipped into his coat. Celeste’s pulse jolted, the air between them stretching tight. She had heard of men dueling for less. No, no, this won’t do. This was supposed to be a game, not a battlefield.
She lifted her chin, her lips curving into an untouchable Portia smile. “I do hope the Duke of Wellington is less particular about love than we ladies… Otherwise, your courtship shall be terribly one-sided.” She kept her voice light, forcing a teasing note into her tone.
Lady Evelyn gasped. Leighton chuckled.
“Should you be laughing, your grace, when you have yet to give an acceptable definition of love?”
Leighton sat back, eyes narrowing as if considering the question for the first time. Then, with the effortless grace of a man who had never once doubted his place in the world, he plucked a lavender bloom and twirled the stem between his fingers.
The sun caught in his golden hair, gilding him in light—the image of a Shakespearean hero, all youthful certainty and poetic conviction.
“Love is the rush of a heartbeat in the dark. The thrill of a touch before it is given. Love is fireworks—brilliant, breathtaking, impossible to ignore.” He offered her the flower.
Celeste accepted it and stared at the perfect petals.
Fireworks.
