“And you are being deliberately blind. We cannot outrun this, Elias.”
It was the first time she had spoken his given name aloud.
He went completely still, fingers whitening around the doorframe.
“Do not,” he said softly.
“Do not what? Use your name? You are my husband.”
“In name only.”
“By your choice, not mine.”
“By our agreement. Twenty-five more days, Celine.”
“And if I said I did not wish to wait?”
He turned, crossing the room in three swift strides. He pulled her from her chair—not roughly, but with unmistakable urgency. For a breath, she thought he would kiss her. Instead, he held her at arm’s length, his grip firm but not unkind.
“You do not know what you are asking,” he said, voice low.
“Then tell me.”
“You are asking me to break the last thread of control I possess where you are concerned. To stop pretending I do not think of you constantly. To admit that every night I stand at that locked door and fight the urge to pick the lock myself.” His hands tightened slightly on her shoulders. “You are asking me to become the beast they believe me to be.”
“No,” she whispered. “I am asking you to be the man I know you are.”
He released her suddenly and stepped back. “Pack for a week. We leave at dawn.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone with cooling tea and an invitation that felt less like a social summons and more like a countdown to something inevitable.
Chapter Nine
Sally arrived within the hour, armed with trunks, tissue paper, and an expression of barely contained excitement.
“The country estate, my lady! How wonderful. Mrs Morrison says it’s ever so beautiful this time of year.”
“Mrs Morrison?” Celine watched as Sally began lifting gowns from the wardrobe. “I did not know Morrison was married.”
“Oh yes, my lady. Twenty years now. She’s the housekeeper at Rothwest Manor. Keeps everything running smooth as silk—though they say she’s as particular as His Grace about schedules and the like.”
“A matched set, then.”
Sally giggled, then flushed. “Begging your pardon, my lady.”
“No need. I rather like the idea of Morrison having a wife. It makes him seem more human.” Celine’s fingers brushed a morning dress of soft green wool. “Tell me about the Manor.”
“Well, I’ve never been myself,” Sally confessed, folding carefully, “but the other servants speak of it. It’s grand, they say, but warmer than the London house. Her late ladyship—the Duke’s mother—she loved it dearly. Spent most of her life there, only coming to town when necessary.”
“And the Duke? Does he love it too?”
Sally paused mid-fold. “Hard to say, my lady. He goes regularly for estate business, but he never stays long. Always seems eager to return to London, though for what reason, I couldn’t say—he doesn’t seem to care for Society at all.”
“Perhaps it holds memories,” Celine suggested.
“Perhaps,” Sally agreed, her voice low.
As Sally continued to pack, Celine’s thoughts drifted—not for the first time—to the Duke.Elias.The name rose unbidden, though she doubted she would dare speak it aloud again after his reaction.
