Delphine looked at the man in front of her, so serious and composed, his sharp, handsome features betraying someone not yet thirty. In the South Seas, he wielded overwhelming power, his entire being exuding the refined aura of aristocracy and an air of restrained desire cultivated over years of family heritage. This was the type of man who wanted to marry her—any normal person would be thrilled. Yet, all she could feel was dread.
She couldn't sense any love or joy. This man was so perfect it bordered on coldness. Even as he spoke of marriage, it felt more like completing a ritual, after which he would naturally assume control of her life.
"What are you panicking about?" Delphine gazed into his long and deeply set phoenix-shaped eyes, her own slightly misty, and asked softly.
Ignatius Leclair narrowed his eyes, unable to comprehend what Delphine meant.
