Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

" D o you often ride through Hyde Park?" Lady Catherine's voice cut through Anthony's thoughts.

She waved her fan slowly, attempting to look seductive, though her efforts only emphasized her thin frame.

Anthony stood near the refreshment table, a glass of champagne in his hand, his eyes scanning the crowd.

His dancing partner prattled on about a carriage ride through Hyde Park, listing all of the many attributes of such an outing, but his mind preoccupied with Eliza.

Anthony caught a glimpse of Eliza rushing away from the ballroom, her hurried departure making his gut twist with unease.

She had managed to rattle him; this girl did not back down from a challenge. And yet, at the end of their dance, she'd simply scuttled off as though he'd stepped on her foot. He'd tried to catch up with her, but had been accosted by Lady Catherine before he could.

He sighed inwardly, his patience wearing thin.

"No, I prefer to ride in the country," he replied, barely masking his disinterest.

He glanced up just in time to see Phoebe approaching, her face set with determination.

Grateful for the distraction, Anthony seized the opportunity.

"Please, excuse me, I must speak with my sister," he said, offering Lady Catherine a curt nod before quickly moving to intercept Phoebe.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Phoebe did not waste any time.

"Anthony, why are you not with Eliza?" she asked, clearly puzzled by his sudden departure from the dance floor. "She looked rather grim after your dance with her."

Anthony clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his composure. He took a long sip of his champagne, more to give himself a moment to think than out of any real desire for the drink.

"Well, I assume she needed some time to herself."

Phoebe wasn't easily deterred. She studied him with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"Anthony, you seemed tense all night. I am not blind; something is bothering you. If it has to do with Eliza, you should talk about it."

His frustration began to bubble over, but he kept his voice controlled. "I do not need a lecture, Phoebe. This is between Eliza and me."

Phoebe raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "I am not trying to lecture you. I am simply concerned. You have never been this… restless before. If something is troubling you, it's not a weakness to talk about it."

Her words grated against his pride. Anthony turned his gaze toward the chandeliers, rolling his eyes exasperatedly.

"You are overthinking this," he said, his voice tight. "I am perfectly capable of handling my own affairs, Phoebe. You do not need to worry about me."

"I am not overthinking it," Phoebe countered, refusing to back down. "I have seen the way you look at her, the way you act when she's nearby. This isn't just some casual flirtation for you, Anthony."

His irritation spiked, and he rounded on her, his voice a low growl. "And what exactly do you think you have seen?"

Phoebe's eyes narrowed, but she held her ground. "I understand more than you think, Anthony, and I know you better than you realize. You care about Eliza, and that scares you."

He froze for a moment.

He scoffed, brushing off her words. "I do not need you sister to tell me what is going on in my head."

Phoebe sighed, her expression softening as she searched his face. "Your head, or your heart, brother? Listen, I am not trying to push you into anything. But I also do not want you to run from something that could make you happy. Do not let fear or pride stand in your way."

Anthony felt a wave of defensiveness rise within him. "I am not afraid, and I am certainly not proud. I just… I do not need to explain myself to you, Phoebe."

"Maybe not," Phoebe conceded though her eyes remained filled with concern, "but you should at least be honest with yourself. Whatever is going on between you and Eliza, do not keep her out because you are afraid of where it might lead."

Anthony stared at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He wanted to argue, to deny everything she was implying, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he felt a familiar tightening in his chest, a sense of being cornered by his own emotions.

"I do not need your help, Phoebe," he finally said, his voice colder than he intended. "This is my business, and I will handle it as I see fit."

Phoebe sighed, clearly frustrated but unwilling to press him further. "Fine. But just remember that pushing people away will not solve anything. If you care about her, then do not let your pride ruin it."

He said nothing, his gaze fixed on a point just over her shoulder, unwilling to engage any further in the conversation.

Phoebe lingered for a moment longer, clearly debating whether to say more, before finally turning away, leaving him standing alone amidst the glittering crowd.

The noise of the ballroom swelled around him, but Anthony felt detached, as though he were standing apart from it all. His thoughts kept circling back to Eliza, to the way she had looked at him during their dance and the unspoken hurt in her eyes.

It gnawed at him, a constant reminder that no matter how much he tried to distance himself, something had shifted between them, something he wasn't sure he could control.

But he could not admit that, not to Phoebe, not to Eliza, and certainly not to himself.

Scoffing, he brushed through the crowd, oblivious to the looks of disapproval, and headed toward an open door that led out onto a balcony.

Anthony stormed out, his emotions volatile. He wanted to hit something, push something, or drink something. Anything that might relieve the pent-up feelings within.

The cool night air did little to calm his racing thoughts as he scanned the darkened terrace.

Not to mention that Eliza was there too.

His eyes locked onto her; she was standing near the edge, her delicious silhouette illuminated by the faint glow of the moonlight. Her shoulders were tense, and he could see the way she gripped the railing, as if trying to hold herself together.

"Eliza," he called softly.

She turned at the sound of his voice, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The sight of her vulnerability made something twist painfully in his chest.

"Anthony," she warned, her voice trembling with hurt and anger, "I am really not in the mood right now."

"What is wrong?" he asked sincerely.

"Please leave. I need a moment to myself," she said, turning back around, and staring into the darkness beyond.

Anthony took a step forward. "Who did this to you? Was it your aunt?"

Eliza whirled on him again, her face stormy. "Did it cross your mind that the reason I am upset could be you ?"

He took a step closer, frowning. "Eliza, you put me in an impossible situation. How am I supposed to react when you dance with other men right in front of me?"

Yes, perhaps he'd been a touch too possessive earlier, but she had started that little game. What had gone wrong since?

"It is not about that," she replied, taking a deep breath, steadying herself.

"Then what is it about?" he asked.

Eliza clenched her jaw and faced away from him, "I… You… This is dangerous."

"What do you mean?"

"I cannot keep doing this with you. I am so thankful for your aid with Haversham and for this… But I…" she began, but her voice trailed off.

"Eliza… What are you trying to say?" he asked, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I must protect myself. You will not marry me. And I cannot give myself to you. And the more we see each other… The more difficult it is going to get," she explained, meeting his gaze once again.

Instinctively, he shook his head, "No."

"What do you mean no? You can see it too, can't you? You said it yourself that we're playing a dangerous game!"

"And you said that you wanted to see the consequences," he stepped forward, now inches away from her.

She bit her lip and glanced away, "I was caught up in the moment."

"That is an excuse, and you know it," he replied.

Her eyes sizzled with frustration, "Then what do you want me to say, Anthony? That I am terrified I will give in and then you will discard me, after which I shall have to move on, as though nothing happened between us?"

"I would not discard you."

"You wouldn't? And how exactly was this supposed to go in your head?" she demanded, her arms crossing over her chest.

"I… There's no point in discussing possibilities, Eliza," he said.

She frowned, "We are engaged now, supposedly. At some point we shall have to end this so I can get married to someone else, since you will not, correct?"

Quickly, he ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more about trying to regain control than anything else. "Yes. That was our arrangement."

"Precisely. I did dance with a gentleman tonight, and another one attempted to before you interrupted. Those could be suitors, Anthony. Men that would possibly make an offer. Our ruse cannot last much longer; we shall have to end our engagement soon enough," she spoke clearly, rationally, and uncrossed her arms.

Before Anthony could respond, she brought her hand up, and continued, her voice softer this time.

"I… I know… That you wish more from me, but I cannot give that to you. I hope… I hope what happened at the masquerade was enough to pay off my debt to you."

Anthony gulped, his mind swirling at the thought that he would never touch her again.

"This situation is complicated, more complicated than I ever expected," he mumbled, running his hand through his hair again.

"Complicated?" she repeated, "What do you mean by complicated?"

She needed a husband; she needed to be free of her despicable aunt, and Anthony knew that. He also knew that the only way she could achieve that was by getting married. He knew that their meetings would end. He expected that.

So why was his heart pounding so hard that he thought it'd break right through his ribcage?

Eliza groaned in frustration, "I ought to go back inside before anyone notices a prolonged absence."

She made to turn away, but Anthony's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with a firm grip.

"I cannot let you go, Eliza," the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, "Because you are in my every thought, because I want you more than I can bear. I can't stop thinking about you, and I'm not ready to let that go."

"Want?" she asked, her tone icy. "That is all I am to you, Anthony; a desire that you can pick up and put down as you please, a passing fancy. You made that perfectly clear the moment you said you could not marry me."

His grip tightened, pulling her closer as his eyes darkened with an intensity that bordered on desperation. "No. You are not simply a passing fancy to me."

"Let go of me, Anthony," Eliza demanded, trying to pull away, her voice thick with emotion. "I must return to the ball."

But instead of releasing her, Anthony pulled her even closer, his face mere inches from hers, his breath hot against her skin. "No, Eliza. You are not going anywhere."

Before she could protest, before she could muster the strength to push him away, his lips crashed down on hers.

The kiss was fierce, fueled by the anger and lust that had been simmering between them for far too long. Eliza resisted at first, her hands pushing against his chest in a futile attempt to break free. But the heat, the undeniable pull between them, was too strong.

Slowly, her resistance melted away, and she found herself kissing him back with equal fervor, pouring all of her frustration and longing into the embrace.

Their bodies pressed together, the tension between them snapping like a tightly coiled spring. Anthony's hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer still as the kiss deepened.

Eliza's hands, once pushing him away, now clung to his coat, her fingers digging into the fabric as if she were afraid he might disappear. The kiss was rough, unyielding, a clash of passion and pain.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together as they struggled to regain their composure.

Anthony still gripped her wrist, his thumb brushing over her pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of her heart that mirrored his own.

"Eliza," he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely able to find the words.

But before he could say more, before he could try to make sense of the tumultuous emotions raging inside him?—

A sharp gasp shattered the silence.

"Oh dear!"

Someone had seen them.