The Duchess paled. “How dare—”
“I dare because truth is not slander. You have spent twenty years blaming a boy for tragedies that were never his doing. If you require someone to blame, your Grace, I suggest you begin with your own neglect.”
Celine left before the woman could answer.
Her hands trembled slightly as she collected her cloak.
Elias was waiting near the entrance. His expression sharpened immediately at the sight of her face.
“What occurred?”
“Your mother’s friend and I exchanged… perspectives.”
“About my childhood,” he guessed.
“Yes.”
“And you defended me,” he said quietly.
“Of course I did.”
“No one ever has.”
“Well, you have me now,” she said simply. “And I protect what is mine.”
Something deep and unguarded flickered in him. He drew her close, heedless of footmen and guests.
“Let’s go home.”
Chapter Sixteen
The carriage ride was nothing like she expected.
No crackling tension.
No frantic, breathless awareness.
No countdown humming between them like a struck wire.
Just silence—quiet, warm, laden with the weight of the night.
Elias sat beside her, not touching, but near enough that she could feel the calm steadiness of his breathing. The heated urgency that had driven their last weeks—every glance, every brush of skin—had been replaced by something deeper, almost solemn.
He looked out the window for a long while, then said, very softly, “No one has spoken to her like that. Not for me. Not ever.”
She didn’t answer. She simply folded her hand into his, lacing their fingers together.
He tightened his grip—not possessive, not desperate this time, but grateful. Grounded.
By the time the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Rothwest House, neither had spoken another word, yet more seemed tohave been said in that silence than in all their arguments and flirtations combined.
Morrison opened the door.
Elias helped her out. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as though she were something precious. Something beloved.
Inside, the lamps were still lit. The house was warm, welcoming. And for the first time, Celine felt trulyhome.
They mounted the stairs slowly, side by side, not rushing, not avoiding. Outside her bedroom door, they paused—out of habit, out of memory, out of the strange reverence that now wrapped around them both.
