“We must.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know—”
“That I choose freely,” she finished gently. “Elias, I chose you the day I signed that contract. Everything since has merely proved I was correct.”
His arms tightened around her. “Has it?”
“You know it has.”
“Then why are we waiting?”
“Because you need the control. The structure.”
“And you?”
“I need to know that this is not just proximity and circumstance but something real.”
“Nothing about this feels real. It feels like fever, like madness, like dying and being reborn every time you say my name.”
“Elias—”
“Don’t. Not unless you want me to lock that door and tell everyone we’re not receiving callers after all.”
“That would be—”
“Perfect. It would be perfect. And completely inappropriate.”
“Like dancing four times?”
“More.”
They stood there for a moment, caught between propriety and desire, before Morrison’s discreet cough from the doorway broke the spell.
“Your Grace, the Duke of Haverford says he will wait… as long as necessary.”
“Of course he will,” Elias muttered. He stepped back, composure sliding back into place like a well-fitted coat. “We shall receive him first. Alone. The others may wait—or go.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
When Morrison left, Celine touched Elias’s arm lightly. “Be gracious with the Duke. He seemed kind.”
“Heiskind. And likely here to remind me of propriety and restraint.”
“Or,” she said, smiling faintly, “to congratulate you on finally behaving like a man with a heart.”
“That seems optimistic.”
“I am an optimist.”
“Since when?”
“Since marrying a beast and discovering he was simply a man.”
***
The Duke’s visit passed in a genial haze of counsel and amused reproach, his manner so warm it was impossible to take offence at the gentle scolding he delivered. When he left, the true onslaught began—a steady stream of callers who brought gossip thinly veiled as concern, congratulations sharpened with envy, and questions crafted to pry into every corner of the previous night’s spectacle. Elias met them with polished reserve; Celine, with unflappable grace. And though neither remarked upon it aloud, they moved in perfect concert—trading glances that signalled retreat or advance, answering challenges as a unit, presenting a united front that only invited more speculation.
