~Celine’s POV~The invitation still burned in my fist as Lucien and I descended the grand staircase toward the breakfast room. His hand brushed mine every few steps childish on the surface, but the brief graze of his fingers felt far too deliberate, too knowing. I kept my eyes straight ahead, trying desperately to ignore the memory of his body wrapped around mine just an hour earlier, his palm hot against my bare stomach, his breath on my neck.Mrs. Eleanor Hargrove had transformed the sunlit breakfast room into something almost theatrical. The long mahogany table gleamed with crystal and silver, but it wasn’t the elegant spread that stopped me cold.It was the display.Three rolling garment racks stood like silent sentinels along the far wall, each one heavy with dozens of couture gowns, emerald silk that matched my eyes, deep burgundy velvet, midnight-black lace that looked sinful, soft champagne chiffon that whispered luxury. Beside them, a long marble console held open jewelry ca
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