Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

“Are you well, Lady Eleanor?”

Eleanor turned to the voice. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and countless butterflies were fluttering in her stomach. She took a deep breath, thankful for the shadows that had engulfed her, and worked on composing herself before walking toward the Earl of Amsbury.

“Quite well, thank you.” She smiled.

She wasn’t, not quite at all. The duke had left her shaken and uncertain. A shiver ran down her spine as she tried to make sense of it all, but her mind was reeling too quickly for her to even grasp a single thought.

“He left quite suddenly,” the earl noted, a slight smile on his lips.

The marquess shuffled beside him. “I cannot say I blame him.”

“Do you ladies need an escort?” The earl turned to look at Eleanor and then Grace. There was a kindness that shimmered behind his eyes, giving off the impression that the man was nothing but a gentleman.

Beth, who had remained much of a shadow during the evening, stepped forward to stand at Eleanor’s side. Her presence was a comfort, something familiar, and she served as a chaperone.

Eleanor shook her head. “Thank you, my lord, but we would not wish to burden you or take away from whatever you have planned next.”

“Nonsense! We have nothing of importance.” The earl grinned.

From the corner of her eye, she could see the marquess watching them, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight. But he said nothing. Instead, he simply turned his back to them all and started down the path.

As they walked, she couldn’t help but think of the duke. Admittedly, she had been disappointed in his demeanor and actions. He had put her in a position that now she was certain she could not quite get out of. She couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that she had done something wrong. But what?

“Lady Grace, you do not strike me as someone who finds most comfort among the ton,” the earl remarked, keeping pace with the women as the marquess walked slightly ahead. “You seem almost more comfortable here than I have ever seen you at a party or an event.”

Grace chuckled. “You are quite right about that. It is beautiful.”

She was right. Lanterns had been lit along the path back to the carriages and through the trees. Everything had taken on a golden hue that flickered with the slight breeze—a breeze that sent chills through Eleanor, making her shiver ever so slightly.

By the time they had reached the carriages, her feet were sore, and she could swear that her bed was calling to her from across the city.

Eleanor turned to the earl, smiling. “Thank you for your company, my lord.”

The earl bowed slightly. “No, my lady, thank you for allowing us to join you both. I do hope to see you soon, and safest travels.”

Eleanor climbed into the carriage, with Grace and Beth following close behind. She was exhausted, more tired than she had been in some time, but she managed to keep her eyes open as the carriage pulled away.

The streets were not busy, for there was not much else happening with the ton, and she was grateful for that small mercy. She could not imagine doing much else for the night aside from sleeping, and as she looked over at Grace, who was sitting across from her, she noticed that she wasn’t alone in that feeling.

The lulling and rocking of the carriage had appeared to put Grace to sleep, her head resting against the window frame. At her side, Beth also looked tired, but there was something more—a strange look on her face that was bordering on worry.

“What is it?” Eleanor asked.

Beth blinked and then shook her head. “Oh, nothing, my lady.”

Eleanor was not convinced, but she trusted Beth’s judgment.

Still, the quiet of the carriage seemed to do nothing to slow the thoughts of the duke that were racing in her mind. His actions had surprised her, annoyed her, and had completely thrown her off guard. And yet, there was something else there as well.

He had asked her to marry him; something she had not expected.

Of course, their union would be for the sake of convenience only, and she knew that, but that did not explain why he was occupying her thoughts. There was truly no reason for it.

Unless…

I should be more cautious, much more cautious with her.

Dorian had been jealous, it was a feeling that had stirred within him, tangling like gnarled roots that only seemed to dig deeper the longer he sat. As the carriage rumbled along the cobblestone streets, he turned his sights to the night outside the window, hoping to distract himself from the thoughts of her.

The streets of London were shrouded in shadow, with nothing more than the flickering of lanterns to illuminate them. He watched with a bored regard as the carriage moved along the road. There was some night life, he could see the glow from inside various establishments as they passed. Including that of one of the many gentleman’s clubs.

I could use a drink. Or three.

“Stop! Stop the carriage,” Dorian called out, smacking at the interior of the carriage closest to where the driver sat. Immediately, they came to a halt, and Dorian wasted no time in opening the door and stepping outside.

“Is everything all right, your Grace?” the driver asked.

Dorian nodded. “Wait for me here. I shall return in a while.”

With that, he stepped forward toward the heavy looking doors of the club.

Inside, there was the distinct smell of smoke and liquor, accompanied by the sound of many conversations. Dorian had not been to this establishment before, but it looked much like any other.

One drink to wash her away.

Then, he saw them.

Sitting at a table, their eyes locked on him, Dorian was well aware of the Duke of Barlow and another man. Xander, was it? He nodded to the Duke of Barlow, the connection to Eleanor’s friend prickling his mind. One of the women she was close with was married to the man.

The Dark Duke, they had called him. That sounded oddly familiar. Much like himself, the Duke of Barlow had a reputation that was shrouded in shadow and danger.

“Join us, Your Grace!” the man beside Xander chimed, raising his glass. Dorian was sure he had not seen him before, or if he had, he could not recall. He was tall, not so tall as himself, with dark hair and even darker eyes. There was an almost boyish charm to him.

It would be rude to refuse, despite his reservations. Dorian grabbed a drink from one of the servers and made his way to the table. The two men appeared to be deep in their cups, and the other man had a cigar lit. The smoke rose into the air in gray wisps, the smoke subtle in the dim light.

“Duke, this is Anthony, the Marquess of Huxley,” Xander nodded to the other man, his voice low and his motions seemingly stiff.

“We were just discussing you,” Anthony chimed.

Dorian sat and turned his sights to the marquess. “Pardon?”

His tone had been sharp, his eyes honing in on the dark-haired man with a frown. Dorian was sure many spoke of him, but none were normally so bold as to mention it upon meeting.

“The Duchess of Barlow has taken some… inspiration from you,” Xander sighed, rubbing his eyes, clearly annoyed that his companion had opened the door for this conversation. “My wife is an author, you see.”

Dorian nodded slowly, though he offered nothing in response. He did not know these men any more than he knew the others who were around them. The club was filled, with men drinking and talking–some more loudly than others.

“Well, is it true, then?” Anthony asked before taking a sip from his glass.

Dorian raised a brow, he knew what he meant. “Yes, it is.”

“Well, then,” it did not seem that the marquess was expecting such a blunt response. He did not strike Dorian as a man who was often at a loss for words, but that is exactly what seemed to be the case.

As they sat and drank in relative silence, aside from the occasional comment, he found himself surprisingly content in their presence. Admittedly, he was not one to make friends–his reputation saw that to be nearly impossible, but with these two… well, he did not dislike their company.

Dorian then felt a shiver run down his spine, a feeling of being watched seemed to prickle at his skin. Looking over his shoulder, he scanned the room and then a frown pulled at his lips. Approaching the table was none other than the Earl of Amesbury and Marquess of Jameson.

Two men he truly did not wish to see.

“Why, the Duke of Dayton, Duke of Barlow, and Marquess of Huxley! What a pleasant surprise,” the earl said once he reached them. He was smiling, but it seemed to Dorian that the smile did not quite reach his eyes. “Gentlemen, may we join you?”

“By all means,” Xander said, motioning to the empty chairs. Though, there was a reservation behind his tone, one that suggested he was only being polite.

“Congratulations are needed!” the earl said as he sat across from Dorian. Nicholas Hervey raised his glass, glancing around for the rest to do the same. When he realized that Xander and Anthony did not know what he was toasting to, he blinked and looked to Dorian. “Surely you have told them? About your betrothal to Lady Eleanor?”

Anthony blinked, an incredulous look on his face. “Betrothal?”

“Congratulations,” Xander said as he turned to Dorian, though there was a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Forgive me, I did not realize you were truly courting her.”

Marcus took a sip from his drink, his eyes darting away as his expression turned sour. There was something he wished to say lingering on his tongue, the words clearly distasteful.

Dorian’s jaw tightened. “Is there something you wish to say?”

The marquess met his gaze. “Well, it is only that she is quite loose with her tongue, and I wonder if she is rather loose with her morals–” he stopped himself, but the implication was left in the air between them.

Dorian’s composure shattered in an instant, consumed by a white-hot rage that made him see red. How dare the marquess speak of her like that? Without a moment of hesitation, he surged to his feet. His sudden movement was enough to make the marquess startle, and he spilt the remainder of his drink on his lap with a curse.

“You will not speak of her,” Dorian growled, unsure if he wished to flip the damn table or leap over it at the other man’s throat. But before he could make another move, Xander and Anthony had risen to their feet and made quick work to restrain him.

“It’s not worth it,” Xander said as Dorian struggled against him.

Dorian continued to fight against their hold on him for a moment, until he managed to break free. Surprising himself, he did not lash out further. Instead, he stood with his hands clenched at his side, his breaths ragged and sharp.

All eyes in the club were on them now, the room had fallen silent.

“Forgive me, I am sure he did not mean offense,” the earl said with a frown, as he stood. “We will leave.”

“No, I will. But, know this,” Dorian looked at the marquess. “If you dare to insult her again, it will be the last time you have the ability to speak.”

And he meant it entirely.

Dorian could offer little more than a stiff nod to Xander and Anthony before he stormed from the room, feeling many eyes following him until he faded from view. His heart was pounding, his blood rushing.

The urge to lash out still burned through him as he stepped out into the chilly night. I could have killed that man. Had it not been for Xander and Anthony restraining him, he might have done just that.