Page 31 of A Duke, a Spinster, and her Stolen List (Duchesses of Ice #1)

Chapter Twenty-Four

“ Y ou’re certain no one saw us?” Celine’s whisper carried through the blue dusk as Rhys reined in the horse beside the embankment.

“Not unless the squirrels have suddenly taken to blackmail,” he said, swinging down from the saddle with a flourish calculated to annoy her. “And if so, I’ll simply outbid them.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “I still insist that midnight was safer.”

“Cowards move at midnight. My Duchess swims at twilight or not at all.” Rhys held up an arm. “Unless you’d rather vault from the saddle yourself?”

“Perhaps I will.”

But she took his hand, sliding down with the kind of practiced elegance that only came from months of clandestine adventures.

The moment her slippers touched the grass, she drew herself up, her chin high as if to dare the very sky to question her right to be there.

Rhys almost wanted the sky to try.

The park had emptied, save for the odd carriage rattling down the distant lanes. The last of the lamplighters hunched along the walk, glass globe in hand, too absorbed in his routine to notice a duke and duchess trespassing in the gathering dark.

He led her down the rise, his boots squelching in the sodden grass, until the bank sloped toward the Serpentine’s mirrored surface. The water reflected the city’s glow, a fractured ribbon of flame that shivered with every gust.

She glanced behind them. “They’ll see us.”

He shrugged, unbuttoning his coat. “Not unless you plan to shout.”

“Very well,” she said. “But if we’re caught, you will do all the explaining. And I’ll have you know that I’m not a good swimmer.”

“We have an advantage.” He glanced at her, holding up his shirt’s ruined cuff. “You float better than I do. Less baggage.”

She smacked his arm, but there was no force in it. She unfastened her cloak and spread it on the grass, careful not to let the hem trail in the mud. “Turn around,” she said.

He snorted. “You’re wearing more layers than an onion. I doubt your reputation will survive the undressing.”

“Just turn around.”

He did, but he watched her in the dark reflection of the water, the way she untied the sash at her throat and shrugged off her bodice, folding it with military precision.

She wore a chemise beneath, but even through the linen and the London chill, the sight managed to make his breath catch. Or perhaps that was the prelude to plunging into a body of water with a stubborn, beautiful madwoman.

When she cleared her throat, he took his cue, stripped to his shirt and trousers, and stepped toward her. She was shivering, but her eyes were fierce.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She squared her shoulders. “If I say no, will it matter?”

“Not a bit.” He offered his hand, and she took it.

They waded in together, first boots, then slippers, then the biting cold that climbed from ankles to knees. She yelped at the first shock, but he pressed forward, dragging her deeper.

By the time the water reached his thighs, she was muttering curses under her breath, most of them inventive and half of them directed at him personally.

He stopped when they were waist-deep, the bank only a few steps behind. “We could turn back now,” he offered, already knowing her answer.

“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, drawing herself up like the bloody Queen of Sheba.

Then, in one single motion, she ducked beneath the surface, her arms outstretched.

When she surged up, sputtering and wild, he was there to catch her. She clung to his arm, her face streaming, her black hair plastered to her scalp.

“You’re a monster,” she gasped, but the words were laced with laughter.

“I’ll have it engraved on my tombstone,” he said, steadying her with both hands. “But you’ll have to outlive me to see it.”

She kicked out, sending a sheet of water into his face. “You’d better hope I do, or I’ll haunt you.”

He grinned, wiping his eyes. “I’d deserve it.”

He pulled her closer, feeling her heartbeat under his palm, the tremor of cold, the stubborn pride that kept her upright even as she shivered.

“You’re freezing.”

“Whose fault is that?” She clung to him, her lips nearly blue. “Next time you want to cross something off my list, perhaps try ‘drink too much sherry at the opera’ or ‘steal a diamond at Lady Sommersby’s rout.’”

“We can still do both tonight, if you like.” His hand slid up her back, his fingers splayed over the soaked fabric. He wanted to rub warmth into her, or at least prove there was still blood in his veins. “But for now, perhaps we ought to get out before you go into convulsions.”

Celine snorted, but her teeth were chattering.

They sloshed back to the shallows, arm in arm, and climbed the bank together. He wrapped her in his discarded coat, bundled her up before she could protest.

She watched him as he wrung out his shirt. “You didn’t have to join me, you know.”

He shrugged. “I’d hate for you to drown alone. The scandal would ruin my morning coffee.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was unmistakable. She pulled her sodden curls into a knot and wrung them out with both hands. “Now what?”

He looked up at the city, taking in the strange hush that came when the ton retreated to their card tables and the servants took over the streets. The world was theirs, just for this evening.

“Now,” he said, “you tell me which dream is next.”

She went still, her arms crossed beneath the coat. “You don’t have to indulge every madness I invent.”

He crouched beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. “ Indulge is a strong word. I’m merely fulfilling my obligations as a husband.”

She studied him, the sharp line of his jaw, the smudge of dirt on his cheek. “You don’t have to, Rhys.”

He didn’t answer. He let the silence envelop them both, the only sound the dripping of water from their clothes, the distant song of some bird that refused to sleep.

At last, she spoke, softer than before. “I wrote the list to prove that I could want things.”

He nodded. “And?”

“And it turns out I still want things,” she admitted, her voice trembling on the edge of a laugh or a sob—he couldn’t tell. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s a mistake.”

“It’s not,” he said. “It’s the only proof that we’re alive.”

She didn’t answer. She stared out at the water, the glow of the lamps, the world she’d spent her entire life fighting and loving in equal measure.

He found himself saying, “You’re allowed to want things, Celine.”

She shot him a look so sharp that it almost drew blood. “And what do you want?”

He opened his mouth, but the answer caught in his throat. For a second, he considered some clever dodge—a joke, a barbed retort, anything but the truth. But then she leaned closer, her eyes locked on his, and he knew she would see through anything but honesty.

“Right now?” he said, his voice rough. “I want you not to regret any of this.”

She let the words sink in. Then, she laughed, low and lovely. “I never regret a thing. Except, perhaps, not wearing my thicker chemise.”

He grinned, the tension easing. “Shall we head home?”

She shook her head, surprising him. “Let’s stay for a bit. I want to see the lamps come on.”

So they sat, shoulder to shoulder, their coats wrapped around them, steam rising from their skin in the deepening cold. The lamps glowed one by one, stretching like a golden necklace across the water.

Celine sighed, a real, contented sound. “I could get used to this.”

Rhys leaned in and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

She looked at him, her expression caught somewhere between affection and annoyance. “You’re too good at this.”

“At what?”

“Making me feel alive,” she said.

He swallowed. The words hit him with a force he hadn’t expected.

He wondered, as he always did, if this was how it started for his mother—if it was this kind of happiness, this delicate hope, that made the fall so terrible. He remembered his father’s words, the echo of old rage and disappointment, the warning never to get too close.

He shoved it down. He would be damned if he became that man.

“Wasn’t that the next item on your list?” he asked, his voice lighter than he felt. “ Feel alive ?”

She smiled. “You remembered.”

He nodded. “I remember everything you say.”

She fell quiet again, and he could see the thought bouncing around in her mind, tight and fast. He reached for her hand, found it cold and delicate, and held it between both of his.

“Do you ever wish it was different?” she asked, not looking at him. “That we’d met as ordinary people, instead of all this?”

He considered. “Maybe. But ordinary people don’t get to swim in the Serpentine at twilight. Or cause scandal in every ballroom from here to Vienna.”

She laughed, bright and sudden. “Is that how you see us?”

He looked at her, really looked, and wondered how he had ever thought she was ordinary.

“I see you,” he said, the words escaping before he could stop them. “And it terrifies me.”

She blinked, startled. “Why?”

He squeezed her hand. “Because if I ruin it, there’s nothing left.”

They sat with that for a while, letting the evening close around them like a shroud.

Eventually, she said, “You couldn’t ruin it if you tried.”

He considered telling her otherwise, but the sight of her in the moonlight, fierce and fragile and alive, undid him.

“Let’s go home,” he murmured, standing up and offering his arm. “Before you freeze.”

She accepted it, and together they retraced their steps to the horse. He boosted her into the saddle, relishing the indignant sound she made, and climbed up behind her.

The ride back through the empty streets was quiet. She leaned against him, and he rested his chin atop her head, breathing in the scent of river and rain and something uniquely hers.

She didn’t speak, but he felt her relax, her body fitting against his like a memory he had always carried.

At the townhouse, he dismounted first, helped her down, and then wrapped his arms around her, coat and all.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

“For what?”

Celine considered, then shook her head. “Just thank you.”

He held her there, unwilling to let go, even when the chill began to seep into his bones. He thought of her list, the promise he’d made to help her live every line.

Rhys wondered what else he could give her. Then, like a spark in the darkness, an idea formed. He smiled into her hair.

He would do it. For her, he would do anything.