Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Ican’t believe it, in bed with the duke…

Her body was exhausted as she lay in the duke’s bed, turned on her side so that she could watch the rise and fall of his bare chest. Outside, the storm had quieted, save for the occasional flash of silver in the sky and the relentless rain. Her mind was racing, and so was her heart.

His eyes were closed, but she was sure he was not asleep.

Eleanor finally gathered the courage to broach the most delicate of subjects, one that had been lingering in the back of her mind. “Your Grace,” she began tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper.

He opened one eye, peering at her through the darkness.

“Can I ask… well, about what happened?”

He did not need her to elaborate to know what she meant. She could see the tension forming in his jaw. The muscles in his neck and chest tightened for a brief moment before relaxing as he took a deep breath.

“I haven’t spoken about it in years,” he admitted warily.

“You don’t have to. I’m sorry for prying,” she said, meaning it.

Eleanor feared that she had overstepped, pushed boundaries only to feed her own curiosity. At that moment, she wished she had said nothing at all.

“I know you’ve heard the rumors, and they are true. I killed my father, and if I could go back… I would do it all over again.”

His words were icy, uncertain. He did not lack conviction in what was said, but in how it was said. It was clear that this truly was not something he spoke about aloud, much less to another person.

“My father,” he continued, “was a very good duke. He amassed more wealth, more power for our family. But he was a monstrous father and husband.”

Eleanor did not speak, she simply lay there on her side and listened, letting him open up at his own pace. Something told her that he wanted her to know.

“He would beat my brother and me, often, but he saved the worst of it for our mother. When we were children, we did not know better, and our mother was careful not to make it known. But as we grew older, the signs became more obvious.” His voice shook, and his eyes flashed opened. He stared up at the canopy above them, but it was clear that the heavy silk was not what he was truly seeing. “At one point, he caused her to miscarry. She would never admit it, but I know. And then one night… I just could not…”

“Dorian,” Eleanor murmured, reaching for him as his voice cracked.

His hand caught hers, gripping it tightly. “I heard her screaming, worse than ever before. He was going to kill her—I’m surprised he did not.”

“You saved her,” she whispered to him, her heart aching.

The duke looked over at her. “I stabbed him.”

A shiver ran through her.

“The worst part,” he continued as he looked back up at the canopy. “She had been so in love with him, so completely devoted. He knew it, and he still did all of that to her.”

For some time, they stayed there like that, holding hands, soaking in nothing but the crackling of the fire and the sound of the rain falling outside.

The duke finally let out a breath, as if he had been holding it. “I wish to ask you something.”

Eleanor looked at the shadows dancing across his profile. “What?”

“Would you agree to a marriage of convenience? I will never come to love you, I can’t, but I can promise to be a good husband.” His tone had shifted. It was cold, almost stony now. “I enjoy your company, in more ways than one. And I cannot think of anyone else I would wish to marry.”

His words flooded through her, too fast that she could not make sense of them. A marriage of convenience? Certainly, it was the most logical of options, but… something about his words unsettled her.

“I… I do not know,” she replied after a few minutes. She felt numb.

This room suddenly felt suffocating. His presence was bearing down on her, threatening to crush her. Eleanor sat up, withdrawing her hand, and she tossed the heavy covers aside. She needed to leave, to go to her room and hide away. Even her room did not feel far enough.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed when his hand wrapped around her wrist.

Eleanor took a staggering breath and looked over her shoulder at him. His face was shrouded in shadow. The duke sat up and edged closer to her, his chest against her back. His arms wrapped around her, holding her so tightly.

Are these the arms of a man who could never love me?

“Don’t go, not yet,” he breathed against the nape of her neck.

As much as she willed herself not to, as much as she tried to convince herself that she did not want to stay, Eleanor leaned back against him and closed her eyes. The heat radiating from his bare chest enveloped her, and she sighed, letting herself melt into his arms.

She turned slightly, her eyes meeting his, and she kissed him.

It cannot be morning already, can it?

The morning sun streamed through the parted curtains, casting a soft, white glow that pulled Eleanor out of her dreams. Her maids had not woken her yet, and so she lingered under the covers, cocooning herself in the warmth and the scent of fresh linen and something else—a subtle almost earthy aroma that clung to the sheets.

Perhaps the maids used a different soap.

Either way, it was a soothing smell, one that she breathed in with an airy sigh. It did seem strange that no one had come to wake her yet, since more often than not she was dressed as the sun was rising, but she was not about to complain. It was a much-needed respite, one she would sink her teeth into for as long as it was permitted.

Shifting as she reached across the bed, her eyes were closed as she felt for her spectacles on the bedside table. However, instead of the reassuring touch of metal and polished glass, her fingertips landed on something altogether different—something warm and yielding, yet possessing an unexpected firmness. A shiver ran down her spine as her hand moved over the ridged, tender surface.

Flesh?

“I would stop doing that if I were you,” a voice growled, deep and full of warning and a hint of promise. It was a voice she had heard before, and yet it did not strike her memory.

As she shot up in bed, her eyes wide as she took in the blurry, unmistakable mass beside her, a sound escaped her throat. Not quite a cry, but louder than a whimper. She squinted, her eyes betraying her as she tried to make sense of just who was in the bed with her and why.

Eleanor was then made very aware of her own state of dress, or lack thereof. She was in only her shift, which had come loose and was exposing more skin than she wanted anyone to see. She gripped the covers, pulling them toward her, covering her nearly bare chest and whatever else she could as she tumbled out of the bed.

She looked around the room, her heart thundering in her ears as she tried to make sense of the blurs and unfamiliar shapes. Realization washed over her, and her stomach dropped.

This is not my room, let alone my home.

“Who are you and how⁠—”

The man had shifted in the bed. He was sitting up now, his arm draped over his raised knee. Though Eleanor could not make out his features, she could see unruly dark hair against a fair complexion.

A faint memory flashed in her mind.

No, it cannot be.

“Good morning.” His voice was sultry, almost teasing, as if he were enjoying seeing her frenzied state. And she did not doubt that he did find some twisted pleasure in seeing her in such a rough state.

Her stomach was in knots as she watched him with squinted eyes, trying her best to make out the features of his undeniably attractive face.

Oh, no. Not him.

At that moment she felt as if she might scream. She plopped down on the bed, worrying that she’d faint any moment now.

“I am naked in the Mad Duke’s bed!”

“You are not naked, Lady Eleanor.” The duke chuckled. “And do you truly still consider me mad?”

She froze. Fully awake now, the memories of their delicious night together came rushing in.

“I cannot be in here, Your Grace. What if someone were to discover us? God, what if my brother were to find out? He would likely murder us both⁠—”

Eleanor bit her lower lip, cursing herself for using the word murder. She squinted as she tried to look around for any hint of her spectacles. The room was a bright blur around her.

“You do not need to guard your tongue with me,” he said as he moved to the edge of the bed.

She watched as he leaned over, his abdomen supporting his upper half as he reached down to the floor. She heard the soft clink of metal and knew he had found her spectacles.

She held out her hand expectantly, but he did not rush to return them. The duke chuckled as he straightened, pulling himself back onto the bed with ease, and then settling back among the plush pillows.

Panic was filling her now, and she spun around, going to the hazy shape of the sofa, where she had tossed her clothes the night before. A hot flush rose to her cheeks at the reminder, and she squirmed slightly, recalling just how skilled the duke was with his mouth.

She gathered her red gown, petticoat, and her stays in her arms before turning back to him. Though she could not quite make out his features, she was certain that he looked smug and amused.

“Your Grace,” she pleaded with a frown.

“Say please,” he teased, his voice lowering.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’re impossible!”

Eleanor decided she did not have the time for such games. By the time she reached the door, her heart was pounding like a drum in her ears, and there was an icy feeling in her chest.

Her hand was on the handle when he asked, “will you consider my proposal?”

His question caught her off guard. Eleanor had not even thought of it this morning, and his words from the night before echoed in her mind.

A loveless marriage of convenience.

She knew she could do worse—far worse—and time was slipping through her fingers.

She nodded. “If you return my ability to see.”

The duke chuckled and rose from the bed, his form seeming much larger than it had before. He crossed the room with graceful strides and towered over her.

In an instant, his arms were around her, and his mouth was hers. He kissed her, hard, backing her against the door. There was nowhere to go, and nowhere she wished to be.

When he pulled back, he placed her spectacles on her face, gently sliding them up the length of her nose, and the blur before her became the man himself.

Her heart skipped a beat as he leaned in once more, and she expected—perhaps even hoped—he would kiss her again. But he simply opened the door, and she stepped back into the hallway.

He smirked. “I will see you at breakfast, Lady Eleanor.”