She took one small step backward. Nicholas did not follow.
"Since when?"
He almost smiled. "You are not ready for that answer."
"Do not decide what I am ready for."
There she was. Nicholas inclined his head. "Two years."
Caroline stopped breathing. "Two years?"
"And some months."
"You—" She stared at him. "But Samuel—"
"Yes."
"You knew."
"Yes."
"And you never said anything?"
"No."
"Why?"
Nicholas's answer came quietly: "Because you loved him."
Caroline had no reply. The wind moved between them.
Nicholas looked toward the fields. "I had no interest in making you choose between a man and a title."
"A title? You know what I am."
"I know who you are." His eyes returned to hers.
The distinction landed between them. Caroline felt it, too.
Nicholas said, "I wasn't certain you did."
Her heart hurt—not the way it had hurt when Samuel knelt before Cecilia. This was something entirely different: something opening, something dangerous.
"Did you come to me because Samuel chose Cecilia?"
"No." The answer was immediate. "I came to you because, for the first time, there was no longer someone you were waiting for."
Caroline swallowed. "And now?"
Nicholas stepped closer. Only one step. "Now I intend to discover whether there might ever be room for me."
Her pulse thundered. He could have touched her; he did not.
"Not because I am Rivenhall."
"I don't care that you're Rivenhall."
"I know." Something like wonder moved across his face. "Caroline, that is rather the point."
She stared at him. All at once, she understood: the rides, the dinners, the book, the musical evening he hated, the dance. God, the dance.
"You asked me to dance that night because—"
"—because you were about to cry."
"That is not what I mean."
Nicholas looked at her. "No," he said softly. "It isn't."
"Were you happy?" Her expression hardened. "When Hartley proposed to Cecilia?"
"Yes."
"No." She searched his face. "Not even a little?"
Nicholas exhaled. "Later, I was hopeful and ashamed of being hopeful." Caroline's throat tightened. "But while you were standing there looking as though someone had quietly removed the floor beneath you, there was nothing in me except the wish that I could make it hurt less."
Her eyes burned.
Nicholas continued: "I do not want to be the man you choose because Hartley was unavailable."
"You think I would do that?"
"No. Which is why I'm telling you now."
"Telling me what?"
His eyes held hers. "That I am going to court you."
Caroline stared. He said it as calmly as if announcing the weather. "You are going to what?"
"Court you."
"You cannot simply announce that."
"I believe I just did."
"Nicholas—"
"Caroline."
"This is precisely the sort of ducal behavior I dislike."
"Then refuse me."
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. His eyebrow rose—infuriating man.
"I am not promising you anything."
"I haven't asked you to."
"You said you intend to—"
"Court you. Not marry you by force before luncheon."
Caroline almost laughed. Nicholas's expression softened.
"I want a chance."
She looked at him. "For what?"
"For you to know me while actually looking in my direction."
The words struck deeper than flirtation would have. Caroline thought of all the years she had watched Samuel. All the rooms in which Nicholas had also been present. All the conversations she suddenly remembered differently.
"How long?" she whispered.
Nicholas knew what she meant: how long would he wait? He had once privately imagined Christmas; he had thought, in the first selfish rush of hope after Samuel's engagement, that perhaps by Christmas he might ask Caroline to become his wife. Now the idea seemed almost laughable. He would not put a calendar against her heart.
"As long as it takes."
Caroline looked at him. Something inside her shifted—not enough to call love, but enough to make love possible.
Nicholas stepped away. "Tomorrow?"
"What happens tomorrow?"
"I intend to begin courting you."
She laughed despite herself. "What have you been doing for the last fortnight?"
"Apparently badly. I noticed."
His eyes warmed. "That is encouraging." He mounted his horse.
Caroline stood in the stable yard watching him. "Nicholas."
He looked down.
"What exactly does the Duke of Rivenhall do when he courts a woman who is unimpressed by dukes?"
For the first time that afternoon, Nicholas smiled fully. It changed his whole face. Caroline's heart stumbled.
"I haven't the faintest idea." He turned the horse toward the drive, then looked back. "But I expect I shall enjoy finding out."
Caroline watched him ride away. Only after he disappeared beyond the trees did she realize she was smiling. And for the first time since Samuel had opened that blue velvet box, Caroline did not feel as though one future had ended; she felt, very faintly, as though another had begun.
The terrifying part was that she wanted to know what happened next.
Three days later, the Duke of Rivenhall began his campaign for Caroline Everly's heart. And because Nicholas Ravenscroft had spent years winning arguments, managing estates, and frightening dishonest men, he made the entirely reasonable mistake of believing he might know what he was doing.
He did not. Caroline was going to make certain of that.
Nicholas Ravenscroft began courting Caroline Everly the following morning by sending her nothing: no flowers, no jewels, no elaborate note, no basket of fruit tied with ribbon. Nothing.
Caroline found this so irritating that by 11:00 she had begun to suspect it was deliberate. At 11:30, she was certain. At noon, she was angry with herself for being certain. By 1:00, she had walked past the front windows three times.
Her mother noticed on the fourth. "Expecting someone?"
"No."