Page 4 of A Duke, a Spinster, and her Stolen List (Duchesses of Ice #1)

Chapter Three

“ O h, Mary, tell me it’s not there!” Celine’s voice was a sharp whisper as she flung another scandal sheet onto the mahogany table.

The morning sun streamed through the lace-curtained windows, glinting off the crumpled pages strewn across her boudoir. Her blue eyes, still shadowed from last night’s masquerade, scanned the print with a mix of dread and defiance.

Mary Smith, her lady’s maid—and formerly her mother’s—stood beside her, her graying hair tucked under a white cap, her hands wringing a linen cloth.

“Calm yourself, My Lady,” she said, her voice firm but warm. “Here, The Morning Post . Not a word about you. Just some nonsense about a ‘mysterious lady in green’ flitting through Lady Ashford’s ball. No names, thank heaven.”

Celine exhaled, her petite frame sagging into her velvet chair, the scent of her Fleur de Minuit perfume lingering from last night’s reckless escapade. “Good. I’d rather die than see my name splashed across these rags. That list was a mistake—masquerade balls, daring dresses, all of it.”

Mary pursed her lips, her brown eyes narrowing as she gathered the papers. “A mistake, aye, and a dangerous one. Sneaking to that masquerade, unchaperoned, in that scandalous dress? If you ever hope to marry, you’ll not pull such a stunt again.”

Celine’s laugh was sharp, her fingers tightening around the table’s edge. “You know my stand on marriage, Mary. I’ll have none of it. Not now, not ever.”

Mary sighed and set the cloth down, her voice softening. “I know why you’re saying this, My Lady, but it’s been more than a decade.”

“Don’t patronize me, Mary. You have no idea how?—”

“I know, pet. I was there, wasn’t I? When you were born, your mother nearly left us—bled so much that we thought she’d not see dawn. And then…” She hesitated, her gaze distant. “Ten years later, with your brother…”

Celine’s throat tightened, the memory slicing through her.

“I still hear her screams,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“That night, when she tried to bring him into the world. Father was… broken, pacing the hall, his face like ash. She died, along with the babe. How could I want that? Marriage, childbirth—it’s a trap, Mary. A death sentence.”

Mary stepped closer, her hand resting on Celine’s shoulder, a maternal gesture that eased the ache. “Not all marriages end in pain, love. Your mother, God rest her soul, loved your father fiercely, almost as much as she loved you. She’d not want you living in fear.”

“Fear keeps me safe,” Celine retorted, her tone icy. She’d long since learned to keep any sort of tremor out of her voice. “Books don’t break your heart. Science doesn’t kill you. I’d rather risk a scandal than… that.” She gestured vaguely, her hand trembling as she pushed a scandal sheet away.

Mary shook her head, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re as stubborn as your father, you know. He was shattered by her death, but he’d not want you closing yourself off. You’re young, Celine. Life’s not all pain.”

Celine’s lips twitched, a wry smile breaking through. “You sound like Dahlia, preaching freedom and fancy. Speaking of which, are they coming today?” she asked, desperately trying to change the topic.

It was a wound she hadn’t healed from, and every time the subject came up, it tore her up all over again.

“Aye,” Mary said, folding the last sheet with a brisk snap, understanding in her gaze. “Lady Dahlia and Lady Helena should arrive at noon. Are you planning to tell them about your little adventure at the ball?”

Celine’s cheeks warmed, her mind flashing to the library, the Wild Duke’s amber eyes, his infuriating smirk. “Dahlia knew the plan—she egged me on, with that wretched list. Helena, though… she’ll scold me senseless. She’s too rational to approve of masquerades and masked rakes.”

Mary raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Rakes, is it? That Duke of Wylds you ran into? Don’t think I didn’t hear you muttering his name when you came in last night, all flustered.”

“Flustered?” Celine scoffed, though her blush deepened.

“He’s a cad, Mary. Cocky, arrogant, thinking he could charm me with a few words.

But…” She paused, her voice softening, a spark of excitement betraying her.

“I can’t wait to tell them how I bested him.

Every barb he threw, I threw back harder. ”

Mary chuckled, adjusting Celine’s shawl. “That’s my girl. Just mind you don’t tangle with him again. A duke is trouble, especially one like him.”

“Trouble I can handle,” Celine said, her tone defiant, though her heart raced at the memory of his hand on her, the heat of his breath.

Insufferable man.

A knock interrupted, and the butler, Mr. Stokes, entered, his gray livery pristine.

“My Lady,” he announced, bowing slightly, “you have a guest.”

Celine’s heart soared at his announcement. A smile curved her lips as she smoothed her muslin day dress, its soft blue a stark contrast to last night’s scandalous emerald-green.

Helena and Dahlia!

“Finally,” she said, her voice bright with anticipation. “Show them in, Stokes.”

She was ready to dissect every moment of that wretched masquerade.

The butler bowed again, his expression unreadable. “At once, My Lady.” He retreated.

She made a quick dash to the drawing room, where the morning light filtered through damask curtains, casting a warm glow on the polished mahogany furniture.

Her fingers brushed the velvet settee. Helena will scold me, but Dahlia will love the tale.

The door opened, and her smile froze, her heart plummeting like a stone. This was the last person she was expecting to see. It wasn’t Helena or Dahlia who walked into the room, but Rhys Harken, the Duke of Wylds.

He filled the doorway, his tall, athletic frame clad in a tailored navy coat, his dark brown hair slightly tousled. His amber eyes gleamed with mischief, and a smirk played on his lips, as if he held all her secrets in his palm.

There’s no way he knows . This is just a coincidence. Calm down, Celine. He’s probably here to ask after your father.

“Your Grace,” Celine greeted, her voice icy despite the heat rising in her cheeks. Her petite frame grew rigid. “I expected… other callers. To what do I owe this visit? Is it my father you’re here for? I’m sorry, but he’s not seeing guests right now. Perhaps I can pass your message on to him?”

That’s it. Keep things very formal. There’s no way he knows that it was me at the ball… right?

Rhys stepped inside and closed the door with a deliberate click, his boots soft on the rug.

“I’m not here for your father, Lady Celine.” He paused.

The seconds felt like torture. She could feel his eyes roaming over her, almost like they did at the ball.

Does he know? Why else is he staring at me like that?

Well, he’s a rake; he doesn’t need a reason to stare at ladies. Yes. That’s it. Everything is fine.

She straightened up, doing her best to mimic the welcoming smile she’d seen on several ladies when in the presence of someone with a higher rank.

“Well then, pray tell, Your Grace. What are you at Woodsworth Estate for? Ah! Perhaps you’re lost. No worries, I’ll have my butler accompany you to wherever you need to go. I know you’re still new to town.” She inclined her head graciously. “No need to be embarrassed, these things happen.”

“I do not need an escort or directions, My Lady. I know my way around town.”

“Oh.”

“You see, I believe I’ve found something of yours.”

He reached into his waistcoat and produced a folded parchment, its edges worn, the Woodsworth lion and rose crest catching the light.

Celine felt all the air leave her lungs in an instant, her stomach twisting.

No. It can’t be.

The list. Her list.

Her face burned, but she forced her expression to remain neutral.

“I have no idea what you mean,” she said, her tone sharp. “That could belong to anyone.”

“Oh, come now,” Rhys drawled, stepping closer, his broad shoulders casting a shadow.

“A lady in a daring green dress, scented with forbidden French perfume, fleeing admirers at a masquerade? And this—” He waved the parchment.

“Bearing the Woodsworth crest? I’d say it’s your glass slipper, Cinderella. ”

“My name is Celine, Your Grace. Not Cinderella,” Celine’s jaw tightened, her mind scrambling for a denial. “And you are mistaken. Plenty of ladies wear green and perfume. Perhaps one of them happened upon our paper. If that is all, I would like to?—”

He let out a hearty chuckle, cutting her off. “You’re just as sharp-tongued as I remember, My Lady. But I must admit that watching you fail so thoroughly at deceit is very amusing.”

“I have no time for your games.”

The formalities were dropped; she was backed into a corner. She could never let him pin that list on her.

“Games?” His smirk widened, his eyes dancing as he unfolded the list. “I was rather pleased to find this list. A treasure map to a lady’s secrets. Quite… illuminating.”

She clenched her hands, her nails digging into her palms.

Damn him.

“But if you insist that it isn’t yours, I can hand it over to members of the ton who’ll be more than happy to find its owner. You do understand that your residence will be their first stop, right?”

Damn him. Damn him ten times over.

“Fine. You win, Your Grace. Now, kindly hand it over,” she demanded.

She would not cower before a rake.

“What do you offer to get it back?”

She furrowed her brow in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard perfectly.” His gaze swept over her, lazy and intense all at once, though his lips curled into a wolfish smirk. “I asked what you offer me in return.”

“What game are you playing at? First, you threaten me, and now you demand something in return for what is mine by right?”

“Exactly. Convince me.” He tilted his head, his smile widening.

Celine clenched her teeth and forced herself to hold his gaze. “Very well,” she huffed. “I have nothing to offer you, unless you want money.”

Stupid girl! You have no money to give him!

He only chuckled and dangled the parchment between them. Celine lunged for it, but he pulled his hand back just out of reach.

“Not so fast,” he murmured. “Do you truly think so little of its value?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What else could you possibly want?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I ask you to fulfill the list…” His pause made her heart thud against her ribs. “With me.”

“How dare you!” Celine sputtered before she could fully comprehend his offer. “You think me a light?—”

“I am not dishonoring you as you seem to assume.” He stepped toward her, and she was tempted to retreat a step but held her ground.

He extended his hand, and when she looked down, she saw—to her greatest surprise—that he was giving her the list.

His fingers brushed hers as she snatched it, and her skin tingled at the contact. Relief flooded through her, her shoulders dropping as she clutched the list, its weight a reminder of her folly.

“Why did you give it back?” she asked, despite herself.

A voice in her head warned her against probing, but she ignored it.

“Well,” he murmured, turning toward the door, “I’ll be on my way. I was going to offer you something far more valuable, though. One that will not only honor you, but also encourage you to shine.”

Something more valuable? Celine was too perplexed to understand anything.

“What do you want?” she was tempted to ask.

He was almost out the door when she called, “Wait.”

Her voice was sharper than she had intended, but she stood there, her heart pounding.

Rhys turned, his expression far too pleased, as if he’d baited her perfectly.

“Out of curiosity,” she emphasized. “And don’t take this as me accepting, but what were you about to offer?”

He stepped closer, far closer than propriety allowed, his boots nearly touching her slippers. The air thickened, charged with the scent of his sandalwood cologne and her lingering perfume.

“Something you’d find intriguing,” he murmured, his eyes locked on hers.

He took her ungloved hand, his touch warm and gentle, and raised her wrist to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against her pulse.

Celine’s breath hitched, her skin prickling as warmth raced up her arm. She refused to retreat, lifting her chin defiantly, though her heart hammered.

“And what might that be?” she asked, her voice steady despite the heat flooding her.

“To fulfill your list with me.” He repeated it like a tease.

“How?”

“Oh, it’s very simple,” he said, his voice a dangerous purr. He stepped closer still, the heat of his body enveloping her. “By making you my Duchess.”