Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

“Absolutely not,” Philip all but hissed under his breath after Dorian and the dowager duchess had left the room. He turned to Xander, who was still seated in his chair and sipping gingerly at his glass of brandy. “Do not tell me you intend to stay?”

Xander glanced at the window. “I do not intend to die on the road.”

“Death seems a bit dramatic,” Violet chimed in with a chuckle. She was seated on the sofa in the middle of the room, looking at the pages of a well-worn romance novel. “But it is quite hazardous, isn’t it? I do not think we’ve had a storm this severe in some time.”

Eleanor stood with a feeling of anticipation fluttering in her stomach, her nose buried in the pages of the book Dorian gifted to her. Of course, she could not focus on the words, but that did not stop her from pretending to be so very absorbed in the book. She stopped just long enough to glance out the window, watching as the sky lit up once again and thunder boomed.

The wind had picked up, rattling the closed windows and howling like a hound outside. She had always enjoyed storms. She found them fascinating and could spend hours just watching the sky, but now it did nothing but set her on edge.

Stay the night… with the duke?

Well, not quite with the duke, but within the same walls.

Still, the very thought made her heart race and her skin flush. Eleanor turned her back to the others as heat crept up her face, not daring to let anyone see it. She ran a finger over the spines on the shelf, absent-mindedly reading the titles. Some were familiar, others were not.

“You’re welcome,” a quiet, sly voice whispered at her side.

Celia stood there, also pretending to peruse the novels. Her blue eyes were full of mischief, and her smirk was undeniable.

Eleanor looked up at her from behind her spectacles, which slid slightly down her nose. Pushing them back up, she raised an eyebrow in question. “Did you somehow orchestrate this?”

“I don’t control the weather, Eleanor,” Celia drawled, as if she had not a single idea of what her friend meant. She reached for a copy of Voltaire’s Candide, a novel in which she would truly have little interest.

She opened the first page, a bored expression already crossing her face as she skimmed over the English translation. “I simply suggested to the dowager duchess that the weather truly looks horrendous and that you, Lady Eleanor, were very much terrified of being caught in such a storm.”

“Celia!” Eleanor exclaimed, louder than intended. Her outburst drew the others’ attention, and she quickly turned her head, in a vain attempt to save herself the embarrassment. She leaned in closer and narrowed her eyes, her voice low as she added, “You sly, little fox.”

“I have been called much worse.” Celia giggled, closing the book and placing it back on the shelf. She smiled up at Eleanor, clearly proud of her meddling, before turning on her heel to sit with her sister on the sofa.

Eleanor stood there, stunned. She turned her attention to her brother, wondering if he truly wished to leave in the storm, but even he appeared to be wary of the idea—despite everything he had said. She knew, ultimately, that it would be his decision whether they stayed or not. She looked at him, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

Philip rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, downing the last of his brandy. Cursing under his breath, he reached for the bottle and poured himself another glass. “We will leave first thing in the morning.”

She struggled to hide her excitement, and the sudden rush of panic. Once again, she was met with the realization that she would be spending the entire night under the same roof as Dorian.

“Don’t look so pleased about it,” Philip chided with a frown.

Eleanor felt her face flush, and she turned to her friends. Violet was watching her as Celia whispered something in her ear, and a look of understanding crossed her face. No doubt, Celia was telling her sister of her meddling, with a shamelessly smug expression on her face.

Diana was nose-deep in Romeo and Juliet, completely unaware of anything that had happened around them, her eyes wide as she read the script. She was a slow reader, not because she lacked the skill, but because she appeared to be soaking in each and every line.

Turning her gaze to Grace, Eleanor was not surprised to find her peering out of the window at the storm. Her back was turned to the rest, and with each clash of thunder and flash of lightning, her shoulders tensed slightly. But it was not due to fear, but excitement. The storm thrilled her.

Eleanor chuckled as she walked over to her friend and stood at her side. She watched as the grounds below were illuminated by another flash of lightning, along with the gardens and the encroaching woods.

She could imagine herself out there, standing in the rain as it drenched her to the bone. The thunder around her, the lightning streaking the pitch-black sky.

Eleanor sighed at the thought and turned to Grace with a half-hearted smile. “What do you make of staying the night?”

Grace glanced about the room, hesitant to answer. Her eyes met Eleanor’s, and she let out a breath. “Dayton Hall is lovely, it truly is…”

“But?”

“Well, doesn’t it feel strange to you?”

Eleanor shook her head, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Grace’s eyes scanned the library once more, making sure no one else was overhearing them. Her eyes flicked back to Eleanor. “A murder happened in this very house, Eleanor,” she whispered.

She’s right.

Eleanor had not thought much of it at all, but it was true. The Duke of Dayton had slain his father in this very house, though she could not be certain where it had happened or even what had caused things to escalate. And although she was curious, she was not certain she could work up the courage to ask Dorian about such a thing.

Then the door to the library opened once more, and the dowager duchess entered, followed by Dorian. As they entered, thunder rumbled and shook the walls around them. Eleanor looked up at him, unable to tear her gaze away from him.

Her breath caught in her throat when he looked back at her, his eyes sweeping over her in a way that made her toes curl. It was a suggestive look, one that did not need honeyed words to accompany it, and to do so in such a shameless way… well, it was beyond scandalous.

It was dangerous.

“Rooms have been prepared for you all,” the dowager duchess announced with a sweet smile. She looked tired, but who could blame her? The hour was growing late, and yet sleep seemed like such a far-off thing to Eleanor.

The dowager duchess glanced over her shoulder and then, on cue, a maid appeared in the doorway. The young woman, pretty and bright, with curious wide eyes, bobbed an awkward curtsy.

“Margaret will show you to your rooms when you are ready,” the dowager duchess said. “As for me, I fear this old woman needs her beauty sleep. I bid you all a good night.”

When she left, the room came alive with separate conversations and the sound of turning pages once more. Eleanor took a seat on one of the sofas. The book that Dorian had given her sat open on her lap. She half-heartedly listened to Celia gossip about the ton while reading over the Latin script.

She was all too aware of the duke’s eyes on her as he sat with Philip and Xander again. The three spoke quietly of politics and other such matters. He continued to steal glances her way, as if he could not stop himself.

But it appeared that he was not the only one staring. Margaret stood near the door, with her hands neatly folded in front of her, waiting for a request or some direction. Eleanor noticed immediately how the maid’s gaze shifted and then settled on Dorian, with an unmistakable look of longing.

A longing for something just out of reach.

As if sensing her gaze, Dorian’s eyes flicked to the maid for a brief moment, barely acknowledging her. And yet Eleanor could not shake the feeling that perhaps Dorian and the maid were well-acquainted. And with that feeling, she found herself almost… jealous.

Why on earth would I be jealous of a maid?

Shaking off the thought, or at least attempting to, Eleanor turned her attention back to the book and tried to focus on the text. But now the words seemed to blend into a mess of nonsense, and she inwardly cursed herself for being so foolish. Closing the book, she looked up and was immediately met by a pair of trousers. She looked up slowly at the man towering over her, her gaze settling on his face.

Dorian then leaned down. “Goodnight, Lady Eleanor,” he spoke in a soft, smooth voice as his eyes held hers. “I’ll be waiting…”

Eleanor blinked and was about to ask what he meant, but he had already turned on his heel and was making his way to the door.

Before he left, he turned to address the room. “Goodnight. I will see you all at breakfast. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask. The entirety of Dayton Hall is at your disposal.”

He looked once more at her, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

She watched as he walked out of the door, her eyes following him until he was out of sight completely.

Eleanor frowned, recounting what he had said to her just moments ago. Anticipation stirred deep within her, ebbing and flowing in such a way that made her heart skip a beat.

He wants me to go to him. Tonight.

“And that is His Grace’s room, should you need anything,” the maid informed Eleanor as they passed the closed door.

The soft glow around the frame hinted at the lit fireplace in his room, and a shadow shifted beneath the door, signaling that he was inside.

Eleanor continued to follow the maid down the dimly lit hallway, her thoughts a whirlwind, not solely of the duke but also the maid walking just a few steps ahead of her. The silence between them remained unbroken, with only the occasional exchange of polite formalities since leaving the library.

They reached a door adorned with intricate carvings. The maid opened it, stepping aside to allow Eleanor to enter. The guest room opened up before her, and she paused, soaking in the luxurious furniture.

A large four-poster bed with silk drapes dominated the center of the room, and it looked incredibly welcoming after the long, tiring day. Everywhere Eleanor looked, she was aware of the fine quality, from the furniture to the plush fur rug near the fireplace. A fire had been lit, casting a soft glow over the room.

Behind her, the maid stepped inside, no doubt to help her prepare for bed. Eleanor suddenly felt self-conscious, which was an unusual feeling for her.

She turned to Margaret with a polite yet cool smile. “Thank you, Margaret,” she said in a soft voice. “That will be all.”

“Are you sure, my lady?” The maid blinked, her voice sugary sweet.

Eleanor knew she would struggle to undress, but the idea of the maid assisting her left a bitter taste in her mouth. She nodded politely and glanced at the door, hopefully making her intentions clear.

The maid bobbed a slight curtsy and then turned for the door, walking slowly—or perhaps it just seemed to take a lifetime for Eleanor to be alone.

The door closed behind her, and Eleanor let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding. “Absolutely ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, annoyed with her newfound, foolish insecurities.

What did she truly have to be concerned about? The duke had kissed her once, nothing more.

Nothing more, yet.

The duke’s room was very close to her own, so there was no way she would find herself lost in the hallways if she did choose to find him tonight. But another thought came to her mind.

What if he did not mean what he said?

Could there have been another reason he had said such a thing? Was it possible she had misheard him?

No, the duke did not strike her as a man who did not mean his words. She recalled how he had looked at her, the way his eyes seemed to devour her wholly. He wanted her to come to his room, so much that he admitted it with the others around them.

I should not go, it would be more than improper…