Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

It’s growing late…

Dorian stood near the fireplace of the dimly lit room, his gaze turned to the window as the storm continued to rage outside. It was even more intense than it had been earlier. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating his room for a brief moment before fading.

It had been a surprise to him when his mother had suggested that their guests spend the night—a welcome idea, but a surprise, nonetheless. He did not dare to complain. Admittedly, he had been pleased to steal a few more glances at Eleanor in her sultry red gown, though he had hoped for more than just a few glimpses.

Some time had passed since he had heard the sound of Eleanor being led to her room just down the hall, and now he was doubtful that she would join him. A part of him had hoped she would, but in truth, he had not truly expected it.

Slowly, he began to undress, removing his jacket and waistcoat, leaving on his trousers and the white muslin shirt he wore beneath. Carelessly, he tossed his clothes onto the back of a chair, before pulling his shirt over his head. Immediately, he felt the warmth radiating from the fire on his chest, while his back felt almost chilled.

He thought over dinner and the time spent in the library. His mind was flooded with images of Eleanor. But something else niggled at him. He felt a sense of unease. There was something simmering under his skin, something that he was desperate to avoid, and yet…

Am I getting too close?

His was jolted out of his thoughts by the smallest knocking sound—so quiet, in fact, that he was almost sure he had imagined it. Perhaps it had been the wind, or the usual creaking of the floors, but then he heard it again.

Is it her?

Dorian went to the door, quicker than he would normally, and opened it. Standing there, looking up at him from behind her spectacles, was Eleanor. The shadows of the hallway danced across her features, and the whites of her eyes seemed much larger as she turned them upward to meet his gaze.

He quickly glanced down the hallway before stepping aside, silently motioning for her to enter. Eleanor seemed hesitant, but then a look of pure determination crossed her face, and she brushed past him into his room.

Dorian felt his chest swell as he closed the door behind him.

“I didn’t think you would come,” he admitted as he locked the door with a gentle click.

If she was concerned about being locked in the Mad Duke’s bedroom, she did not let it show.

Dorian smirked and raised an eyebrow. “What convinced you?”

“I need you to help me undress,” she blurted out suddenly.

He froze, wondering if he had somehow misheard. “Undress you?”

She was still in the same red gown, though it was apparent that she had tried to undo the hooks and drawstrings herself. Dorian did not bother to hide his amusement as he stepped toward her, his eyes roving over her body, his fingers itching to do just as she asked.

The maid should have done this or helped, at least. But I’m glad she did not.

“Come here,” he said, gesturing toward the fireplace, where he would have a better view of her and the dress.

Dorian reached out, taking her hand and guiding her to the spot. Already, a sweet blush had risen to her cheeks and her chest.

Eleanor’s body seemed to be trembling.

“You need not be afraid of me,” he reassured her, his voice softer than it usually was, surprising even himself.

Standing behind her, he looked down at the mess of hooks and drawstrings, which had been pulled at roughly, cinching the fabric between her shoulders.

“I’m not afraid,” she said with a chuckle.

Dorian leaned in closer, his mouth close to her neck. She smelled sweet, enough to leave him tempted to take a bite. “Was this some ploy to have me take your gown off?” he whispered in her ear as his fingers worked at the clasps between her shoulder blades.

With the click of the last hook, she stepped away from him and spun around to face him. The shoulders of her gown slid down her arms, revealing hints of the soft, cream-colored petticoat beneath.

“I thought I could undo it myself,” she told him with a frown. “But, as you can see, I struggled a bit.”

“A bit?” he teased.

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, a challenging look crossing her face.

He stepped closer, happy to oblige. Never had he met a woman quite like her, stubborn and clever, and so undeniably tempting that it could drive him mad.

He watched, unable to hide his interest as she began to pull the red gown over her head. Dorian reached out, his fingers clutching the silk as he helped her. It was an action he had performed more times than he could count, and yet, this excited him to no end. His trousers tightened, his stiffening length straining against the fabric.

Eleanor pulled her petticoat over her head, revealing nothing more than her shift and stays. She turned her back to him once more. Dorian looked down at the string that held her stays together and made short work of loosening it. His fingertips brushed against her back, and even through her shift, she let out a shaky sigh.

“Share a drink with me?” he asked when he was finished. But it truly was not much of a question.

Dorian indicated the sofa near the fireplace, motioning for her to sit.

He didn’t look back to see her sit but heard the soft rustling of fabric as she did just that. Moving to the small cabinet across the room, he poured them each a glass of rich red wine that he had been saving for special occasions. He was well aware of her eyes on him.

Turning back to her, two glasses in hand, he froze. The glow of the fire reflected off her skin, turning everything a soft shade of amber. Shadows moved over her as the flames danced, flickering and licking at her shift, which left little to the imagination.

“What a sight,” he breathed.

Eleanor’s spectacles reflected the glow of the fire, making it appear as if there were flames in her eyes as she looked up at him. Her skin was flushed, and he could see the rise and fall of her chest as her gaze fell to his mouth.

Dorian gave her a wicked smile and handed her a glass. He was pleased that he was not the only one so interested. The look in her eyes was enough to tell him that this feeling, whatever it was, was mutual. Sitting beside her, he could feel her closeness, and it did nothing to temper his desire.

Outside, thunder rumbled lowly, and lightning flashed across the sky.

His mother had informed him that Eleanor was terrified of storms, and yet she seemed perfectly content with it.

Dorian watched as she took a large sip of her wine, her expression placid. “It’s good.”

He smiled. “It’s a vintage from Madrid.”

“You’ve been to Spain?” She blinked.

Dorian nodded. “Briefly, about four years ago.”

She shifted her gaze to the flames and closed her eyes, soaking in the heat. “I wish I could travel like you have,” she admitted. “London is so… suffocating. The same streets, the same faces…”

“Where would you wish to go?” Dorian asked, genuinely curious.

She sighed. “If I could? I don’t even know. I’ve never entertained the idea. Perhaps I would just close my eyes and point on a map. I think I would be happy to go anywhere.”

“I’m afraid I do not keep maps in my bedroom.” He chuckled.

Eleanor took another sip of her wine. “What is your favorite destination?”

“I used to think that Greece was,” he said with a frown as he reached forward to set his glass down on the small table at his side.

She tilted her head. “And what has triumphed over that?”

Dorian leaned toward her, his eyes falling on her lips. “Here, now.”

“Did you truly think that line would work?” Eleanor whispered.

The duke reached up slowly, carefully, and his hand slid around the back of her neck. His fingertips pressed into the muscle, gentle but firm enough to pull her closer to him.

“I was hopeful it might,” he murmured, his lips hovering so close to her own.

Her heart was thundering just as loud as the storm outside, and she felt a tempest raging within her.

He kissed her, soft at first, but then it turned more desperate. The duke shifted closer still, his body pressing against hers as his tongue flicked against her lips in a deliciously teasing way. Her mind strayed just long enough to wonder how that tongue would feel somewhere else.

Her entire body moved with him, craving him.

His hands roamed over her body in a way that made her skin feel as if it were on fire and turned to ice at the same time. He pulled at her shift, raising it to her mid-thigh as his fingertips traced the delicate skin leading to her center.

“Spread your legs for me,” he whispered against her lips.

Eleanor pulled back, her head tilted to the side. “I do not take orders.”

His eyes flashed with hunger. The duke held her gaze, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “Anywhere else, I would not order you to do a thing,” he said as he knelt down at her feet. “But here, in my bedroom, you are mine, Eleanor. And you will do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”

Her insides clenched deliciously. Eleanor nodded, at a loss for words.

Without another word, his fingers moving painstakingly slowly up her thighs, pushing her shift up toward her hips. He planted soft kisses on the tender flesh, his breath hot against her skin. She shivered in delight, widening her stance to grant him more access.

His lips latched on her most tender of spots, and she arched her body, wanting more and more. Eleanor threw her head back, savoring the feeling as his hot tongue swirled against her in a rhythm that would put any orchestra to shame. Each flicker of his tongue, each kiss was ravenous.

Her toes curled as she reached down, shamelessly fisting her hands in his hair. The duke seemed all too pleased by her reaction, made evident by the shift in his tempo. The movements of his mouth were more than enough to make her groan in pleasure, her hips bucking greedily for more.

Not once did his tongue ease up on her flesh, even when the pressure built to such a level that she found herself wrapping her legs around his neck. The duke grabbed her thighs, holding her up as his mouth continued to lick and suck on her sweet spot.

Eleanor glanced down at him, and their eyes met. He was watching her face, watching each reaction to what he was doing to her, savoring it all. It was all too much for her, more than she could bear. Her entire body caved in on itself, causing her to cry out as the tension reached the breaking point.

“Oh, Dorian…” His name rolled off her tongue.

A rippling sensation shot through her. Waves of pleasure tinged with relief crashed over her, and she felt all of her strength completely leave her body. The feeling was enough to leave her panting, almost whimpering, and yet her body craved something more.

Eleanor knew she wanted him, entirely.

The duke pulled away, his eyes still on her, and he stood up. The sign of his arousal was evident before her, and she found herself itching to reach out and touch him. Just as she lifted her hand, he took it.

To her surprise, he knelt and kissed her knuckles. “You should rest.”

Eleanor’s gaze shifted to his canopied bed, decorated with dark silk. She could not pretend not to feel its allure. Suddenly, she felt completely exhausted.

Looking back at him, she bit her bottom lip. “Can I stay?”

The duke raised an eyebrow. “Did you truly think I would let you leave?”