Page 2 of A Duke, a Spinster, and her Stolen List (Duchesses of Ice #1)
He took a step closer to her and tilted his head, like a predator surveying his next meal. The simple act somehow made heat pool in her belly.
How could he make something so mundane effortlessly attractive?
“Harsh words for a man you’ve just met. That dress though…” His gaze swept over her emerald silk dress, its low neckline a scandalous nod to the continental fashion she had admired among the tourists last summer. “… and that perfume screams rebellion. You’re no ordinary wallflower, are you?”
“You know nothing about me,” she snapped, stepping forward to reclaim the space, her skirts brushing against the rug.
“And I’d wager you’re no stranger to rebellion, given the tales of your…
adventures.” Her voice dripped with disdain, but her heart raced at his proximity even though she kept a straight face.
His sandalwood cologne, mingled with her own scent, made her feel almost lightheaded.
He laughed again, softer now, closing the distance until only a breath separated them.
Don’t stare at his lips. Don’t stare at his lips.
She wasn’t going to back down, but she couldn’t deny the fact that his presence was…
She couldn’t find the right word. Intimidating? Intoxicating?
“Adventures? You flatter me. But you’re deflecting.
Let’s try another guess—runaway heiress, dodging an unwanted betrothal?
No, too tame. A secret poetess, penning scandalous verses under the moonlight?
Yes, that seems more like it. Will you write me something?
I’ve been told that my beauty brings a wave of inspiration. ”
“You’re right. I’m inspired,” she started, watching as a smug smile crossed his face. “Inspired to tear out my eardrums if that’s what it takes to spare me from the torture that is this conversation.”
Rhys let out a deep, hearty laugh that took her by surprise. “It was but a jest. Who knew you’d take it so seriously? Does that mean I’m close? Are you a poetess?”
“Keep guessing,” Celine said, her lips twitching despite her resolve. “You’ll exhaust yourself before you come close. I’d sooner write treatises on chemistry than verses for arrogant rakes.”
“Chemistry?” His eyebrows rose above his mask, his tone intrigued. “A bluestocking in a ball gown. Now, I’m truly smitten.”
Enough of the ton had mocked her with that label—bluestocking. But somehow, this man made it sound like a compliment.
She rolled her eyes, though her heart was pounding at his flirtation.
“Smitten? Save your charm for someone who believes it. I have no use for rakes who think a smile solves everything.”
“And yet,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, sending shivers down her spine, “you’re still here, trading barbs with me. Admit it, you enjoy the spar.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Or is that flush on your neck telling another story?”
Celine’s breath caught, her cheeks burning beneath her mask.
He sees it, damn him.
She was no simpering debutante, yet his words unraveled her, her icy facade cracking under his gaze.
“You’re delusional,” she said, her voice sharp but unsteady. “I’m here to avoid bores, not to add to their number.”
“Bores?” Rhys’s smile widened, his eyes dancing. “I’m wounded. One more guess, then. A lady spy, weaving secrets in the ton’s shadows?”
She snorted, a sound unladylike but fitting her mood. “A spy? You’ve read too many novels. Try again when you’ve got something worth hearing.”
“Oh, I could go all night,” he said, his tone suggestive enough to make her pulse leap. “But I’d rather hear your story. What drives a lady to hide in a library, mask or not?”
“I’ve had enough of you,” Celine declared, turning around sharply, her emerald skirts swishing. “My carriage awaits, and I have no patience for your games.”
She reached for the doorknob, desperate to escape before he unraveled her further.
His hand caught her wrist, firm but careful, halting her mid-step. She spun back, fury flaring, her eyes blazing behind her mask.
“Unhand me, you cad!” The word slipped out, sharp and defiant, propriety be damned.
Rhys’s expression shifted, his playful smile fading into something serious, his amber eyes flicking to the door.
“Hush,” he whispered, his grip loosening slightly. “Listen.”
Celine froze, her anger cooled by the low murmur of men’s voices, growing louder in the hallway.
“She went this way, I’m certain,” one man said, his tone eager. “That green dress, that perfume—unmistakable.”
Her stomach sank, the specter of scandal looming.
“Don’t you dare rat me out,” she hissed, her voice low but fierce. “I was never here.”
Rhys’s lips curved, his cockiness returning as he leaned closer. “Tsk, tsk. Asking for favors already, My Lady? And here I thought you wanted me to ignore you.”
“I’m not asking for favors,” she snapped, yanking her wrist free. “Just pretend that I don’t exist.”
He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Not certain I can. You’re rather… unforgettable.”
The footsteps grew louder, the doorknob rattling faintly as the men’s voices sharpened.
She was a heartbeat away from discovery.