Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

" G ood evening, Eliza," Anthony greeted her, his voice smooth and polite.

Eliza stood at the entrance of the dining room, her heart fluttering in anticipation.

She had spent the afternoon nervously preparing for this moment, carefully selecting a gown in a shade of deep emerald that contrasted with her red hair, which was styled up, yet some loose locks framed her face. She had even allowed her lady's maid to apply a touch of rouge to her cheeks, hoping to add a bit of color to her pale complexion.

Anthony had been on her mind all day, ever since their encounter in the woods, and the library the day before.

When Anthony had finally arrived, Eliza had felt her breath catch in her throat.

He looked impossibly handsome, his brown hair slightly tousled, his sharp jawline highlighted by the golden light of the candles. His eyes, the color of lush forests, held the mischief that Eliza remembered from the night he'd gone along with their fake betrothal.

"Good evening, Anthony," she replied, offering him a coy smile, hoping to hide all her sinful thoughts of him—those could be revealed after dinner.

Anthony stepped forward, offering her his arm. "Shall we?"

She took his arm, and together they walked to the table, the silence between them comfortable but charged with anticipation.

A footman pulled out Eliza's chair, and she gracefully seated herself, her eyes never leaving Anthony's. As he took his seat across from her, the footman poured wine into their glasses, the ruby liquid glinting in the candlelight.

Eliza sipped her wine as the first course was served—a delicate soup fragrant with herbs.

"Anthony," she began, a small, tentative smile forming on her lips, "why don't you tell me a story? Something from your time at Eton or Oxford. I am sure you have plenty of amusing tales to share."

Anthony paused, surprised by the request, "A story?"

"Yes. I'd love to hear what the notorious Duke of Redfern got up to in his younger days," she teased.

He leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"A story, you say? Well, let me see…" he paused, looking away as he recalled a memory, "There was this one time at Eton, when my friends and I decided it would be a brilliant idea to sneak out after curfew. We were in a rather playful mood, and I thought it was good idea to make a bet with one of my friends."

"What kind of bet?" Eliza leaned in slightly, her interest piqued.

"Well, I thought it was the perfect time to show off my rowing skills to everyone, so I challenged each one of them. Mind you, none of them protested the idea at all. Of course, none of us thought to check the weather beforehand."

"And what happened?" she prompted, her smile growing as she imagined a young Anthony being up to no good.

Anthony chuckled, the memory clearly amusing him. "Well, as fate would have it, a storm rolled in just as we were in the middle of the river. The wind picked up, the rain came down in torrents, and we were completely soaked in a matter of minutes. We tried to row back, but the current was too strong. Eventually, we had to be rescued by one of the masters. Needless to say, we were in quite a bit of trouble the next day."

Eliza laughed, "So nobody won the bet, then?"

"Oh I won, of course—though several weeks later, when we were allowed back to the river," he smirked smugly.

"What did your father say when he found out?" she asked.

Anthony's smile faltered for a moment, a shadow passing over his features.

"He wasn't pleased," he admitted, his voice quieter. "He was a bit of a stick in the mud, you see. Wanted me all prim and proper all the time."

Although she wanted to know more about his father, Eliza had a sense that Anthony would not be in the mood to talk about that with her just yet. Thus, she decided to share a story of her own to keep the conversation light.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I wasn't exactly the most well-behaved child either," she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "When I was about fifteen, I challenged two boys to climb a particularly tall tree at one of my aunt's garden parties."

Anthony raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You, climbing a tree at a garden party? That must have been quite the spectacle."

Eliza nodded, grinning at the memory. "It was. I managed to reach the top first, but both boys fell off the tree and got slightly injured. It was barely an injury, if you ask me, but still, my aunt was absolutely furious. She said I was ‘too wild' to handle and sent me off to Mrs. West's soon after."

Anthony laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the room.

"You, too wild? I find that incredibly hard to believe."

"No need to be sarcastic with me," Eliza replied, her tone playful. "But as you can Mrs. West's did not do much of a job. If I'm being honest, I'd still prefer climbing trees to attending those insufferable garden parties."

Anthony shook his head in amusement, "I think I would too," he said, his eyes meeting hers, "Incidentally, I am rather glad that those awful teachers did not manage to change you; I rather like you as you are, wild and unvirtuous."

A warmth spread over her heart as he spoke those words to her. No man had ever spoken to her in such a way. Most saw her as a challenge to be tamed or they didn't see her at all because of her weight, but Anthony… He saw her for who she truly was, and instead of recoiling, he reveled in it.

In his eyes, she found not the judgment or disapproval by her aunt or by the teachers at Mrs. West's that she had grown so accustomed to, but rather, an admiration that made her feel cherished in a way she had never known.

His words were like a balm to the wounds left by those who had tried to change her, to mold her into something more palatable for society's tastes.

"I feel like I should say I like your unvirtuous side too," she replied, unsure of how to respond to such a sincere compliment.

"Oh, do not pretend that you do not. I believe you prefer me unvirtuous too," he winked at her, reverting to his typical rakish persona, which disappointed that tiny, hopeful part of hers.

She smirked at him, shushing that part again, "I do not want you to get complacent, my lord."

Anthony bit his lip, "You wish to keep me on my toes, then?"

"Very much so."

His eyes glimmered with nothing but sin—sin which she would love to partake as soon as their meal was done.

"So, how did you come to be so adept with horses, Eliza? You handled that stallion better than many men I've known," Anthony changed the subject, easing back into his chair again.

"I grew up around horses," she explained. "Before he died, my father was an avid rider, and he taught me everything he knew. I suppose it became second nature to me."

Anthony nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "I see. I am sorry you lost your parents so young."

Eliza twirled her fork around her hand; she had not given her parents' deaths much thought throughout her life—she had to move from her aunt's first, trying to navigate her tyrannical demands, and then to Mrs. West's abuse. She always had to look ahead, to keep going.

"It's all right. That was many years ago," was all she could reply.

She felt Anthony's gaze on her and as she looked up, he saw understanding in his eyes.

Just as he nodded, his demeanor shifted again, "As for today, I suppose I should have known better than to question your riding abilities. You've always been quite… capable."

There was something in the way he said the word "capable" that sent a shiver down Eliza's spine. She looked at him, searching his eyes for some hint of what he was truly thinking. But as always, Anthony's expression was guarded, revealing little of the turmoil that Eliza suspected lay beneath.

"Capable? In what ways?" she asked, eager to challenge him.

Anthony's lips curved into a slow, seductive smile, his eyes darkening with a familiar hunger.

"In more ways than one," he replied, his voice husky with the memory of their last encounter. "You've proven yourself more than capable of handling… difficult situations."

Her breath caught at the double meaning in his words, her mind flashing back to the way his hands had felt on her skin, the way he had explored every inch of her with a skill that left her breathless.

"And you," she countered, her voice daring, "have also shown a remarkable ability."

Anthony's eyes glittered with amusement, but there was no mistaking the desire that burned behind them.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a thrill through her. "Ability for what, Eliza?"

"Pleasuring me," she replied, looking straight into his eyes.

Anthony's gaze flicked to her lips, and Eliza felt a surge of heat course through her body. The memory of their previous encounters was still fresh in her mind, the way he had kissed her with a hunger that matched her own. She could feel that same hunger now, simmering just below the surface, ready to resurface at any moment.

"Pleasuring you, you say?" His voice was low and rich, almost a purr. "I do have a knack for that, don't I?"

"A remarkable knack," she replied, her tone equally sultry, her breath quickening as she leaned in closer. "One that I suspect you've honed to perfection."

Anthony's smile widened, a trace of amusement and something darker evident in his eyes.

"Honed, perhaps," he said, his voice dropping even lower, becoming a whispered caress. "But there's always room for improvement."

The air around them seemed to crackle with electricity, the tension between them palpable. Eliza's heart raced, her mind flashing back to the way he had touched her, the way his lips had moved against hers with an intensity that left her breathless.

"Improvement?" she echoed, her voice soft but teasing. "Are you suggesting that you might still have something to prove?"

"You are treading dangerous waters, Eliza," he murmured, his gaze never leaving hers.

As she looked into Anthony's eyes, she realized that she didn't care. All she wanted was him—his touch, his kiss, the fire that burned between them.

"Dangerous?" she asked coyly, "Dangerous how?"

"In that I might just throw you on the table and turn you into my dessert," he answered.

"Oh, I'm not afraid of the water," she whispered, her voice steady despite the rush of anticipation that coursed through her. "I've always been a good swimmer."

Anthony's eyes darkened with desire as her words hung in the air. Without breaking their heated gaze, he reached out and, with one swift motion, swept the plates and cutlery from the table, sending them crashing to the floor.

The clatter echoed through the room, but neither of them flinched. Eliza gasped as she watched him, her anticipation building with every second.

Before she could fully process what was happening, the door creaked open, and a few startled servants peeked in, their eyes wide at the unexpected scene.

Anthony didn't even turn to acknowledge them; his voice was firm, commanding as he growled, "Leave us. Now."

The servants quickly scurried away, closing the door behind them, leaving the two of them alone once more. Eliza's cheeks flushed with embarrassment at first, but excitement soon kicked in. When he was like this—so raw, so possessive—it thrilled her in a way she would have never expected.

Anthony's hands were on her in an instant, pulling her up from her chair, and then closer as he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.

"Well, my pretty little swimmer," he whispered, his voice thick with need. "Time for a dive."

Her heart raced as he lifted her onto the table, spreading her legs as he kissed his way down her neck, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. Eliza could barely catch her breath as his mouth moved lower, his hands firmly gripping her hips to hold her in place.

When his lips finally found the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, Eliza gasped, her back arching involuntarily. Anthony looked up at her, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that sent another wave of excitement coursing through her.

"Anthony…" she whispered, her voice barely audible as her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging him closer.

"You're my own personal feast…" he whispered, and with a wicked smile, he lowered his head, his mouth finding its way to her most intimate spot.

The first touch of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through her, and she bit her lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. But Anthony had no intention of letting her stay quiet; he wanted to hear every gasp, every cry, every sound of pleasure that he drew from her.

Eliza's hands tightened in his hair as the sensations overwhelmed her, his skilled mouth bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, he pulled back, leaving her teetering on the brink.

Her eyes flew open, a soft whimper of protest escaping her lips, but Anthony was already moving, positioning himself above her, his body pressing hers into the cool wood of the table.

"You taste like heaven," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers before capturing them in a searing kiss.

Without another word, he thrust into her, filling her completely. Eliza gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he began to move, each powerful stroke sending waves of pleasure through her.

Anthony then pulled her gown down hard, making her breasts spill over her dress' neckline, and cupped each one in his hand, squeezing and kneading.

"My perfect little wife… You're mine, all mine," he grunted.

As Eliza locked eyes with him, she realized that this—this overwhelming connection, this heady power and vulnerability—was what she had been longing for. Anthony's possessiveness, his unyielding desire, only made her feel more cherished, more alive.

With every thrust, every whispered word of affection, she felt herself falling deeper, consumed by the fire that burned between them.

And as they finally reached that blissful peak together, Eliza knew that she would never want to be anywhere else but in his arms—wild, unvirtuous, and wholly his.