Celestine’s mind went blank for a moment.
The man standing before her was a far cry from the poised, handsome gentleman she’d seen at the auction. Today, Gideon’s eyes were clouded, their gray depths shadowed with something heavy. His usually striking features seemed drawn and weary.
The last time she saw him was also their first meeting.
As soon as she recognized him, Celestine found herself swept into a warm, solid embrace.
She could feel his cheek pressed into her shoulder, and the subtle tremor that ran through his body.
Celestine blinked, her voice gentle. “Mr. Prescott?”
But her words didn’t break his trance. Instead, he only tightened his hold, as if he wanted to pull her into himself—bone and flesh.
The thought startled her.
Soon, the embrace grew so tight she could hardly breathe, and she coughed softly.
Only then did Gideon seem to snap out of it. He released her abruptly, worry etched across his face as he looked her up and down. “Did I hurt you?”
Celestine, red-faced and breathless, could only wonder why he seemed so rattled.
She hadn’t found her voice yet when Gideon’s gaze dropped to her injured forearm.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, releasing her completely, almost afraid to touch her again.
“I’m all right, Mr. Prescott,” Celestine murmured, lowering her eyes to avoid his searching look.
A teasing voice broke the tension. “Well, Miss Selwyn, you’re fine, but you nearly gave our Gid here a heart attack.”
Celestine looked toward the sound. A tall young man in a casual gray sweater—he had to be at least 6’3”—stood watching them, features refined and gentle, his presence easygoing. His gray-brown eyes were strikingly similar to Gideon’s.
He looked oddly familiar, but Celestine couldn’t quite place him.
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