Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
By the time she had returned to her room, managed to appear as if she had, in fact, been in her bed the entire time, a slight knock sounded at the door. Eleanor swallowed hard, attempting her very best to compose herself as the door creaked open.
She had expected the maid—and the maid was there, to be true. But another person she didn’t expect entered the room.
The dowager duchess stepped inside, her eyes falling on Eleanor with nothing but warmth. Eleanor’s mind raced, recalling what the duke had told her about his mother, and she could not imagine how a woman who had been through so much could still shine like the sun.
“I realize that you were not well prepared for the stay,” the dowager duchess began as she stood in the middle of the room, watching as Eleanor sat up in the bed. If she suspected that anything was amiss, she did not show it.
But the same, unfortunately, could not be said of the other set of eyes on Eleanor. The maid was watching her like a cat watches a mouse, ready to pounce at the right opportunity.
Eleanor’s stomach churned. Was it possible that the maid somehow knew? But how could she?
You’re overthinking it. There’s no way.
The dowager duchess turned to the maid. “Margaret, will you fetch it?”
Margaret bowed her head. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Eleanor watched as the maid scurried out of the room, leaving her and the dowager duchess alone. She crawled out of the bed, running a hand through her hair to straighten it out a bit, as well as tugging at her shift in an attempt to appear more proper.
“You do not need to fuss so, Lady Eleanor.” The dowager duchess chuckled as she stood there, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
The older woman was the picture of elegance, and incredibly beautiful for her age. No doubt, she had been quite popular in her youth.
Eleanor gave a polite albeit shy smile. “You have been so welcoming, Your Grace. I only hope that we may repay the favor soon,” she said, really just hoping to fill the silence.
“You look much like your mother, you know?”
Eleanor blinked. It did make sense that her mother and the dowager duchess knew of each other, though she was sure it had been some time since they last saw each other.
“I am sure she would be delighted to see you,” Eleanor offered—a blatant lie. “You would be most welcome to call on us.”
Her mother had not entertained guests in years.
Margaret appeared in the doorway, holding a bundle of fabric in her arms. The dowager duchess turned to her and then motioned to the bed, where the maid then laid out the gown.
“I know it’s an older style, but we can’t have you wearing the same dress.” The dowager duchess smiled, her eyes becoming distant, as if remembering when last she had worn such a thing.
Eleanor blinked. “Oh, Your Grace, I cannot possibly—”
“You can, and you will,” the dowager duchess said in a sweet tone. She was not a domineering woman, her tone stayed measured, but it was clear that she had no intention of taking no for an answer. “Margaret will help you dress and then escort you downstairs for breakfast.”
With that, she left the room. And Eleanor wished more than anything that she had stayed.
There was something about the maid that made her uneasy, something that made her stomach lurch. A knowing look crossed the maid’s face, though her expression did not shift. The look in her eyes sent a shiver down Eleanor’s spine, but she did not dare show it.
Eleanor forced a smile and turned to the dress. It was a lovely olive-green gown. The style was out of fashion, but that did not take away from the quality. When it was made, it was likely a very expensive piece. She was almost scared to wear it, worried she might ruin it.
“Shall we, Lady Eleanor?” Margaret asked in her sugary-sweet voice.
Eleanor nodded and steadied herself as the maid helped her change. All the while, she could not help but feel as if the eyes on her held a strong dislike for what they were seeing.
If the maid and the duke did have some form of relationship, Eleanor told herself it was none of her business. And yet she was curious and, admittedly, a bit jealous. Had he been so close to this woman as he had been with her?
But it was not something she dared to ask.
She watched herself in the mirror once she was dressed. The gown fell a bit short, but it fitted her, nonetheless. Eleanor tried to imagine the dowager duchess wearing it in her youth, and she knew she could never do it justice.
“You look lovely, Lady Eleanor. I’m sure His Grace will appreciate it.”
Eleanor turned and faced the maid. “I beg your pardon?”
Margaret smiled apologetically. “I only meant that any suitable man would find you to be quite beautiful in such a nice gown, my lady.”
Something tells me it’s more than that.
Eleanor forced a smile, which did not quite reach her eyes. She turned her focus back to the mirror and quickly pinned her hair back, though without Beth’s skill. But it still looked appropriate, if not a bit rushed.
With Margaret guiding her down the hallway, Eleanor watched as they approached the duke’s room, and memories of the previous night flooded in. Her skin flushed as the image of him looking up at her from between her legs flashed in her mind.
“Did you sleep well, Lady Eleanor?” Margaret asked as they walked past his room.
The door was shut, and there was no hint of life inside that she could discern.
Eleanor frowned. “Quite well, yes.”
If the maid had more to say, she did not voice it, and for that, Eleanor was grateful.
Dayton Hall was surprisingly quiet, much quieter than Berkley House. There were servants, of course, but not as many as she would expect for such a large estate.
Eleanor entered the dining room, with the maid at her heels. The morning light streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow on the lavish setting. The duke, the dowager duchess, Diana, Grace, and Philip were all seated.
“Violet and Xander left earlier,” Diana explained as Eleanor sat beside her brother.
Directly across from Eleanor was Dorian, whose eyes flicked up to meet hers immediately. She looked away quickly, knowing that she would turn red under his gaze and that wicked thoughts would flood her mind.
She could barely focus on the food before her, her mind was racing under the duke’s near-constant gaze. It was clear he did not care who else saw him watching her, as if challenging them to tell him to stop.
After the meal, Philip stood up, his chair scraping across the floor. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said to their hosts, his turn curt. “We had best be leaving.”
He turned his gaze to Eleanor, his eyes darkening with thinly veiled anger. “Come, Eleanor. Before you make more of a fool of yourself,” he spoke quietly, his words barely above a whisper.
For a brief moment, his eyes darted across the room. Eleanor turned her head, following his gaze.
Margaret stood there at the door, a small smile on her lips.
“I wish to speak with you before you depart,” Dorian said.
Philip turned to him, his nostrils flaring. “Certainly, duke.”
“I know what happened last night,” Philip hissed as he closed the study door behind them. His blazing eyes fell on Dorian, and the tension in the room became so thick that it was almost suffocating.
Dorian turned his back to him, walking over to his desk and taking a seat. “Please,” he said, indicating the chair across from him.
Fuming, Philip remained standing in the middle of the study. His face had turned red, his temper rising the longer he watched Dorian.
With a shrug, Dorian leaned back in his chair and tilted his head. “And how, may I ask, do you know such a thing to be true?”
“Your own staff witnessed Eleanor leaving your room this morning.”
Dorian struggled to keep the smirk off his face. “That is true.”
She did much more than just leave my room. But who would have said so?
A member of his staff had betrayed him, and immediately he knew just who had done such a thing. Margaret had kept him occupied when he had first returned to Dayton Hall, to step into his newfound role as duke. She had meant little to him, and he had been under the impression that she knew that their relationship was nothing more than mutual satisfaction of the desires of the flesh.
He would deal with this sooner rather than later. He would not allow anyone to hurt Eleanor. Never. Though her brother’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
“You vile rake!” Philip snapped, storming toward him with his fists clenched. He looked as if he might jump over the desk, as if he would lunge at Dorian’s throat.
Dorian did not move. He met his gaze, unyielding. “I have expressed my interest in marrying your sister,” he declared in a nonchalant tone, his eyes boring into Philip’s. “She has said she will consider it. I’m sure, she would expect to discuss such a matter with you and your mother.”
Philip hesitated, his fist lowering as he frowned. He seemed to be considering what Dorian said, his eyes narrowed slightly as his mind worked out the details. “You will marry her,” he said finally.
“If she accepts,” Dorian countered firmly.
“Whether she accepts or not, you will marry her. For you have already ruined her,” Philip growled.
Without another word, he stormed out of the study, slamming the door behind him.
I have not ruined her… yet.
Dorian smirked and took a deep breath. He would not force Eleanor to do a damn thing, but that did not mean that he planned to stop trying to convince her.
His mind returned to the events of last night. He thought of how she tasted, how her body trembled as he devoured her, how she looked as she writhed in pleasure, and waking up with her nestled beside him. It was something to which he could happily grow accustomed, given the chance.
Dorian stood up from his seat and moved to the window. From there, he watched as his guests climbed into their carriages. Eleanor and Philip were the last to leave, and for a brief moment, he swore she had looked up at him from below.
She was not wearing her red gown—something he had only come to notice then. His brow furrowed, and he wondered where she had found such a dress, certain that she had not brought any luggage with her.
He stood there, watching until the carriage pulled away and then vanished from sight.
Dorian knew he would need to do more to convince her, and as much as he hated to admit it, her brother had been right. If anyone were to hear the maid’s claims, the slightest word would spread through the ton like wildfire. And Eleanor’s reputation would turn to ash.
Turning away from the window, he knew he had to extinguish the spark.
“You will no longer be in my service,” Dorian spoke in a firm, cold voice. He peered up from the paperwork before him, his gaze landing on the maid with bored interest. “I will happily provide a reference for when and if you find a new employer. You have until the end of the week to remove yourself from Dayton Hall.”
“I truly did not mean anything by it.” The maid’s voice quavered.
Margaret stood before him in the study, her eyes wide and pleading. Dorian watched her, seeing the tears fill her eyes as she made sense of what he had said. Her tears, he suspected, were not of genuine sadness, but of anger and frustration.
She doesn’t regret what she did, only that she was caught.
“Even if that were the case, you must have known that you could have not only ruined my reputation, but Lady Eleanor’s as well.” Dorian watched her as he spoke, noting the vacant look behind her eyes despite her tears.
The maid hanged her head. “I… I thought you and I…”
Dorian raised an eyebrow and then cocked his head.
She and I?
There had been nothing to suggest he would seek her comfort for long. Was this an attempt to guilt him? Were these tears of jealousy?
“There is nothing between us, and never was. I thought we understood each other,” he stated coolly.
“You’re lying,” she said loudly, her nostrils flaring.
Dorian tilted his head to the side. “Have you known me to lie?”
“N-no, but… I thought—”
“It doesn’t matter what you thought.”
A hint of anger flashed across her features. “Very well.”
With that, the maid turned on her heel and rushed out of the room. Something niggled at the back of his mind, a silent warning.
I have a feeling this will not be the last of it.
On the bright side of things, he now found himself with one less servant to pay.
Dorian leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. He had managed to maintain his composure, at least somewhat, despite the blood boiling in his veins. But now that the maid was gone, he cursed aloud.
She had come close, too close, to ruining Eleanor’s reputation—if she hadn’t already. It seemed strange to him that he would care, but he found himself greatly concerned. He could not give a damn about his own reputation, but hers…
Closing his eyes, he could see her face in his mind. He thought of her body, the subtle curves that demanded his attention and drew him in. His fingers itched to feel her beneath them, to make her cry out and writhe. He wanted her right then and there, willing her to suddenly appear before him. But, of course, she did not.
Never had he wanted someone so desperately.
Next time she is within my grasp, I fear I will not be able to control myself.