Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

“Idon’t understand,” Eleanor said from behind him, her voice firm.

Dorian let out a breath. Admittedly, he did not understand either, but he would not tell her that. Instead, he turned to face her, leaning his elbows on the railing as he looked her over. The breeze pulled at her dress, ruffling the fabric like waves on the sea.

He had not spoken to her brother for long. They only had a brief but polite conversation. Philip had come prepared to speak more on the matter of her dowry, and the very thought had twisted in Dorian’s stomach. He had tried to convince himself that was why he was marrying her—for the dowry—but now he wasn’t so certain.

Every emotion and thought about her felt like a storm within him.

“One moment you are stealing kisses,” she whispered as she walked toward him, her brow furrowed in frustration and her lips pursed as she tried to make sense of her words before they slipped from her mouth. “And the next you act as if I do not even exist? I do not understand. I am to be your wife⁠—”

“In a marriage of convenience,” Dorian pointed out, his voice cool.

For a moment, a hint of what he swore was hurt flashed across her face, but it disappeared just as fast.

Eleanor looked as if she might say something, but instead she took a deep breath and shrugged her shoulders. “Very well, Your Grace. But I do expect you to be cordial if nothing else.”

“Of course.” He nodded.

“Perfect,” she said, before turning on her heel and stepping back inside.

When he had returned to join the others, they had already left.

With nothing else to do, Dorian found himself in the study. It seemed he was there more often than not. It was strange to him, for it was a place that he had always hated, and yet now it seemed to provide a small comfort.

Seated at his desk, he was not in the mood to work, but he felt thirsty. He was not one to drink until he could not stand, but as images of his interaction with Eleanor on the balcony flashed in his mind, he was quite determined.

Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes, bottle in hand.

I should not have kissed her.

And yet he wanted to do it again.

“You won’t be able to drink the whole bottle.” His mother’s voice cut through the room.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there, his face turned upward toward the ceiling, his eyes closed. It could have been minutes or hours.

Dorian opened one eye to look at her as she stepped into the study.

“I’m a little busy right now,” he told her—a complete lie, of course.

She raised her eyebrows. “Yes, I can see that. Very preoccupied.”

With a sigh, he straightened and put the bottle down on the desk—a bit harder than he perhaps should have, as the sound echoed through the room.

Dorian turned to his mother, who was staring down at him, and raised his eyebrows in question. “Did you need something, Mother?”

“I very much like Lady Eleanor,” she stated.

“She is a suitable young woman,” he agreed cautiously.

“You would do well not to push her away.”

Dorian frowned, his head tilted to the side. “What do you mean by that?”

“I know you are afraid to be like him, but you are not. You are much more of a man, with a kind heart—you have always had a kind heart,” she insisted, her cheeks lifting, her eyes crinkling. “You are a good man.”

“I am a murderer,” he corrected her.

His mother swallowed hard. He could see the strain on her face, and it was clear to him that she was trying to distance herself from her memories of what had happened years ago.

Dorian stood up from his chair. “I don’t regret what I did, but I know what I am capable of. And when it comes to her, I cannot be like him. So I will do whatever I can to ensure that she is safe.”

“Dorian—”

“If you will excuse me, I would like to retire for the night.”

With that, he walked past her, his gaze set on the path ahead and nothing else. His steps were slightly unsteady, but he was able to stay upright, nonetheless.

The hallways seemed much longer than he recalled, especially as he made his way to his room. His mind was a mess of emotions, his thoughts were racing, and images of Eleanor kept flashing in his mind.

Opening the door to his room, he paused, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Someone was in his room, but he could not be sure who. It was a foolish thought, ridiculous as soon as it came up, but for a moment, he found himself hoping that he would find Eleanor in his bed.

But no, it was not her.

“Your Grace.” The soft purr of the maid did nothing for him.

Dorian stepped back, holding the door open, letting the light from the hallway pool into the darkened room to reveal Margaret standing in the middle. She was scantily clad in a loose nightgown and nothing else, and her hair fell over her shoulders. There was a time he would have stepped in without a word, without a thought, but now he fought the urge to roar.

“Get out,” he ordered in a firm, commanding voice.

Margaret did not move. “Not until you speak to me.”

“I have nothing to say to you. Get out, now. Or else.”

His words seemed to stir her, and within a moment, she was rushing past him. Again, she was not upset. The look on her face was menacing. It was dangerous and full of threat.

“You will not be here when I wake up,” he hissed.

Margaret froze. “But you said⁠—”

“Must I repeat myself? Get out.”

With that, Dorian stepped into his room and shut the door behind him. He had no doubt that she had planned to seduce him, but he could not understand just why.

Truthfully, he found he did not care enough to put more thought into it. He had been too nice to give her a week before she left. She hadn’t deserved his kindness. She had disrespected his wife-to-be twice.

He undressed hastily, wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and be finished with the day. As he crawled into bed, he could not help but wonder just what Eleanor was doing right then. Was she asleep already?

Is she thinking about me?

He inwardly cursed himself. He had told himself he would not grow attached to her, and yet she occupied his thoughts relentlessly. Everything seemed to lead to her.

Dorian needed to be more careful, more cautious. But he felt it might be impossible.

The following day, he had not left his study from the time the sun had risen until it dipped below the horizon. His mind was occupied by a sea of thoughts and worries that crashed into each other like waves.

The room had grown darker, the sun had shifted across the sky, and the light no longer filtered through the large windows. Instead, the room was illuminated by the fire crackling in the hearth and the flickering candles on his desk.

He was so lost in thought that he did not even hear the door creak open until the butler cleared his throat.

Dorian glanced up from the paperwork before him and raised an eyebrow in question. “What is it, John?”

The butler had served the Crawfords long before Dorian had been born. He was a man of average height, lean, with a slight hunch between his shoulders from age. His hair was white as snow, combed back neatly to reveal the fine lines across his forehead and in the corners of his eyes. Those eyes had seen so much, and they reflected such.

I’m surprised the old man can still walk, let alone serve.

In the butler’s hand were two envelopes, each sealed.

“One from Lady Eleanor,” John announced in an even tone, presenting the first envelope with a polite nod.

Dorian wasted no time breaking the wax seal, eager to see what she had written. His heart was beating fast, faster than he would ever dare to admit aloud.

She has never written to me before…

Her penmanship was immaculate, swirling black ink on cream-colored parchment. Dorian hung on each word, his lips quirking up in delight as he read over the brief but sweet message.

It was an invitation to go to the theater with her tonight, to watch a performance of Romeo and Juliet. A flicker of anticipation tinged with guilt crossed his features. He wanted to. God, did he want to.

He had spent much of the day pushing her out of his thoughts, but she only seemed to linger in the back of his mind. It was as though she ebbed and flowed, fading only to appear more bright soon after.

Dorian ran a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated groan. “I should not,” he muttered, as if trying to convince himself.

It was for her own good, after all.

It’s to keep her safe, and yet…

“Prepare the carriage,” he instructed without lifting his gaze as he plucked the second envelope from the butler’s hand.

Immediately, his stomach lurched, and he frowned. The handwriting on this one was crude, messy, and all-too-familiar.

Another letter about the debt…

“On second thought…”

The butler hovered. “Your Grace?”

Dorian set the envelope on his desk, his eyes flicking up to the older man. He trusted John, but he had been careful not to alert any of the staff of their financial issues.

“Send a message to Lady Eleanor.” He paused, frowning. “Tell her that I regretfully will not be able to attend.”

John nodded slowly. “As you wish.”

Alone once more, Dorian stared down at the letter for some time. There was a heaviness in the air, a feeling of something like annoyance mixed with a twisting sense of concern.

“They are becoming more frequent,” he muttered to himself.

He opened the second letter, dread churning in his stomach. He had been expecting another threat concerning his brother’s debts, but this he had not anticipated. His eyes scanned the words as a frown creased his face.

Congratulations on your betrothal.

The threat was clear. The revelation struck him like lightning, and a curse escaped his lips. Dorian’s fingers clenched the paper, crumpling it as the words replayed in his mind like a haunting echo.

Eleanor was caught in a dangerous web, and it was all his fault.

The threat to himself was something he could handle, even dismiss, but this… this was something else.

Dorian felt rage surging through him. His muscles tensed, and his mind turned dark. He had planned to settle the debts in time, without violence, but now…

They have made a grave mistake by threatening her.