Chapter 23
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came.
He stepped closer. “You think I don’t know why you ran from me?” His tone was quiet, measured, but beneath it lay a raw edge. “You think I haven’t spent every waking hour trying to hate you enough to stay away?”
Her breath caught.
“I told myself I released you to freedom,” he went on, the words spilling faster now, unguarded. “That I was being merciful. But it was a lie. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you. Every time I tried to forget, it gutted me anew.”
Caroline pressed a hand to her chest. “You had your chance, Richard. You could have said this before–”
“I couldn’t,” he interrupted, his voice breaking slightly. “Because if I said it then, you would have seen what I am without you—empty, hollow, half a man.”
The admission struck through her anger like sunlight through fog.
He exhaled, running a trembling hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I am without you. I told myself I needed an heir, that duty demanded it. But it isn’t the dukedom that keeps me awake. It’s you. The thought of your laughter, your defiance, your damned stubborn courage.”
He took another step forward until the distance between them was a breath. “You’ve ruined me, Caroline. Entirely.”
Her lips parted, trembling. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” His voice lowered, rough as gravel. “You said once that marriage was a curse. Perhaps it is. But I would bear it gladly if it meant you beside me.”
Her composure faltered.
He hesitated only a moment longer before his final confession fell, simple and devastating.
“Choose me,” he whispered. “Because I need you to. I want you to.”
The sound of those words seemed to still everything around them—the fountain, the trees, even the air itself. The Devil of the Ton, the man who had frightened noblemen and silenced drawing rooms, stood before her with his heart unmasked.
Caroline could not breathe. She stared at him, every instinct warring within her—anger, longing, disbelief.
“Say something,” he murmured.
“I can’t.”
“Then let me.”
He reached out, but she stepped back. “No. You don’t get to say this now, after everything. After you left me–”
“I never left,” he said fiercely. “My body walked away, but my heart stayed.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “You think that makes it better? That I should just forgive you because you’ve decided now that you can’t live without me?”
“No,” he said quietly. “You shouldn’t forgive me. But I can’t live knowing I didn’t try.”
The confession broke something in her. Her anger began to unravel, thread by thread, leaving only exhaustion and an ache she could no longer deny.
“Why now?” she whispered. “Why tell me this now?”
“Because I’m done pretending I can breathe without you.”
For a long time, neither moved. The only sound was the ragged rhythm of their breathing.
Caroline’s voice was barely audible when she finally spoke. “Do you know what you’ve done to me?”
He frowned, uncertain.
She pressed a trembling hand against her chest. “You’ve invaded every corner of my mind. I sketch you because I can’t help it. Every time I hate you, I find another piece of you to adore. It’s infuriating.”
Her eyes filled again, the tears spilling freely now. “Even when I hated you, I couldn’t stop drawing you.”
Richard’s breath left him in a quiet exhale. “Then I am still yours, in every stroke.”
Her laugh was watery and broken. “You think it’s that simple?”
“No,” he said. “But it’s true.”
The lanterns flickered as a wind swept through the garden, rustling the lilac blossoms above them. Caroline looked up at him—truly looked—and saw not the monster she had once feared, but a man brought low by love. His control was gone; his pride lay shattered between them.
And suddenly she could not bear to keep her distance.
She took a step forward. “I am terrified,” she whispered.
He frowned. “Of me?”
“Of marriage. Of children. Of dying as my mother did,” she said, voice trembling. “Of loving someone so much that losing them would end me.”
He moved closer until the heat of his body brushed hers. “And of me?” he asked again, softer this time.
She shook her head. “No. I’m terrified of a life without you.”
His breath caught—a single, quiet sound that was relief and disbelief mixed together.
Then he reached for her.
The moment his hand touched her cheek, the last of her restraint vanished.
The kiss erased everything.
It was not gentle. It was hungry, desperate, the kind of kiss that demanded and surrendered all at once. Caroline melted against him, her fingers clutching at his coat as though she might fall if she let go. The world around them—the lanterns, the night, the fountain—disappeared into silence.
When he broke away, his voice was hoarse. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
She met his gaze, eyes shining. “Don’t. Please don’t.”
He kissed her again, slower this time, reverent and consuming.
Each breath between them was a promise remade.
The path from the garden to her chambers blurred.
She remembered only fragments: the echo of his boots on marble, the feel of his hand on her waist guiding her through the dim corridors, the way her heart beat wildly against his palm.
When the door closed behind them, the world outside ceased to exist.
Caroline’s bedchamber was a hush of candlelight and shadow, the air heavy with beeswax and the faint trace of lavender from the linens.
Richard paused just inside the threshold, letting the latch click shut with a soft finality.
For a long moment they simply looked at one another, the space between them vibrating like a drawn bowstring.
Then he moved. Not hurried, not frantic, but with the deliberate grace of a man who had imagined this a thousand times and refused to rush the reality. He reached for the tiny row of pearl buttons at her throat, fingers steady despite the tremor she felt when his knuckles brushed her skin.
One by one, the buttons slipped free. The fabric parted, revealing the delicate lace of her chemise and the frantic flutter of her pulse beneath.Caroline’s hands rose to his coat, pushing it from his shoulders.
It fell to the rug with a muted thud. Waistcoat next, then the crisp lawn of his shirt.
She needed to feel him, skin to skin, to prove this was no dream.
When her palms met the hard planes of his chest, a low sound escaped him, part groan, part prayer.
The sound emboldened her. She traced the line of an old scar beneath his ribs, then the taut ridges of muscle that flexed beneath her touch.Richard’s hands settled at her waist, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.
He carried her the few steps to the bed, laying her down among the pillows with exquisite care.
The mattress dipped under his weight as he followed, stretching above her, braced on forearms that trembled with restraint.
Candlelight gilded the sharp angles of his face, the pale slash of scar, the dark hunger in his eyes.
He kissed her again, slow and deep, while his fingers worked the tapes of her gown.
Fabric slid from her shoulders, pooling at her waist.
The chemise followed, baring her to the cool air and his heated gaze. Caroline’s breath caught at the reverence in his expression, as though she were something sacred unveiled. His mouth descended, tracing the line of her collarbone, the slope of her breast.
When his lips closed over one tight peak, she arched with a soft cry, fingers threading into his hair. He lavished attention on her, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to spark lightning down her spine.
Each pull of his mouth sent liquid heat pooling between her thighs. She felt the slick evidence of her want, the ache that had simmered since the orangery now a roaring demand.
Richard’s hand skimmed down her side, over the curve of her hip, gathering the last of her skirts until she lay bare beneath him save for the fragile shield of her drawers.
He paused, lips against her sternum, breathing her in. “Caroline,” he said, her name rough with wonder. “Let me see you.”
She nodded, unable to form words. His fingers hooked in the ribbon at her waist, drawing the fabric down her legs with agonizing slowness.
Cool air kissed overheated skin; then his hands were on her again, parting her thighs with gentle insistence.
The first brush of his fingers through her slick folds drew a broken moan from her throat.
He explored her with the same reverence he’d shown her breasts, learning every secret, every shiver.
When his mouth replaced his fingers, Caroline’s world tilted. The heat of his tongue, the scrape of stubble, the way he hummed approval against her, all of it conspired to unravel her.
She clutched the sheets, hips lifting to meet him, chasing the pleasure he coaxed with devastating skill. He brought her to the edge once, twice, retreating each time she teetered on the brink, until she was trembling, pleading, tears of frustration and bliss gathering at the corners of her eyes.
Only then did he rise above her, shedding the last of his clothing with impatient efficiency.
Candlelight painted him in bronze and shadow, the hard length of him jutting proud and flushed.
Caroline reached for him, fingers curling around velvet over steel.
He groaned, hips jerking into her touch, but caught her wrist gently.
“Not yet,” he rasped. “I want to be inside you when you come again.”
He settled between her thighs, the blunt head of him nudging her entrance. Caroline’s breath hitched. She was slick, ready, aching, but still he paused, forehead pressed to hers, eyes searching.
“Tell me,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Richard, please…”
He pushed in slowly, inch by torturous inch, letting her feel every stretch, every throb.
The sensation was exquisite, almost too much.
When he was fully seated, they both stilled, adjusting to the intimacy, the completeness.
Caroline’s legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper.
He began to move, slow, deliberate strokes that dragged over every sensitive place inside her.
Each thrust built the coil tighter, the friction exquisite.
Caroline met him, hips rising, nails scoring his shoulders.
The room filled with the sounds of their joining, wet, rhythmic, punctuated by gasps and murmured endearments.
Richard’s pace quickened, restraint fraying. Sweat beaded on his brow; his breath came in harsh pants against her neck. Caroline felt the tension in him, the way his muscles locked, the tremor in his thighs. She clenched around him deliberately, and he cursed softly, hips stuttering.
“Caroline,” he warned, voice ragged.
“I’m close…” she managed.
He pulled out at the last possible second, fisting himself with a guttural groan. Hot pulses striped her belly, her breasts, marking her in a way that felt primitive and perfect.
The sight of him undone above her, head thrown back, throat working, pushed her over the edge again.
She followed him into bliss, inner muscles fluttering around nothing, pleasure crashing in endless waves.
Richard collapsed beside her, careful even in extremity, gathering her close.
Their breaths mingled, slowing together.
He reached for the discarded chemise, wiping her clean with tender efficiency before drawing the counterpane over them both.
Caroline curled into him, ear over his heart, listening to the thunder there ease into a steady drum. For once, there were no rules, no bargains, no power between them, only two souls stripped of pride and fear.
His touch was both apology and worship.
Caroline rested her head against his chest, listening to the slow, steady rhythm beneath her ear. His arm was draped around her, protective even now, and his other hand traced idle circles against her back.
The silence between them was peace, fragile, precious, real.
She looked up, studying his face in the candlelight. The scar that had once seemed so harsh was softened now; she traced it gently with her fingertips, and his eyes opened.
He caught her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm. “You’ll make me believe in redemption, if you’re not careful,” he murmured.
She smiled faintly. “And if I am careful?”
“Then I’ll still believe.”
She laughed quietly, tears stinging her eyes. “You are impossible.”
He leaned closer, brushing his lips against her temple. “And you’re mine.”
Caroline rolled her eyes, though the smile that tugged at her lips betrayed her. “You do love declaring ownership.”
He met her gaze, suddenly serious. “No,” he said softly. “This time, I mean something else.”
“What?”
He gently tilted her chin upward with his hand, guiding her face to meet his, their eyes locking for a brief, electrifying moment. His mouth found hers once more, moving in a tender, deliberate kiss that spoke volumes.
It was slow and sure, sealing a promise between them that words alone could not fully capture. The kiss was warm and lingering, filled with the depth of emotions they both felt but hadn't yet spoken aloud.
When he finally pulled back, he looked into her eyes, his voice emerging rough but filled with certainty and resolve.
“You’re going to marry me,” he stated firmly, leaving no room for doubt.
“Tomorrow. Or today. Next week. Whichever comes first,” he added with a touch of urgency, as if the idea couldn't take shape soon enough.
It was as if something had clicked for him, making the future he wanted clear.
Caroline couldn’t help it; she laughed as tears of joy gathered in her eyes once again.
“You presume much, Your Grace,” she teased him gently, using the title playfully as a way to mock his confident assertion.
Her eyes sparkled with a mix of humor and the same joy that bubbled up within her every time she thought of them together.
He broke into a wide grin, an expression that was rare and beautifully unguarded, revealing the genuine happiness simmering beneath his calm exterior. “Only what I already know,” he replied with a wink, his voice teasing yet confident.
She rested her forehead against his, smiling despite herself. “Very well, then.”
His arms tightened around her. “Yes,” he said, his voice a low vow against her skin.
And for the first time, she no longer feared the word forever.