Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

The forested grounds of Dayton Hall had always been one of his favorite places, tucked away from the house, devoid of anything aside from the trees and the birds that sang to each other. Sunlight streamed through the lush canopy of leaves, casting dappled shadows on the uneven green ground underfoot. Dorian listened as the wind whispered through the trees in a sweet, soft hush.

He did not know where he was going, though it was all too familiar to him. He had spent much of his childhood in these very woods, running through the trees alone, pretending to be some famed hunter chasing down a buck. It was a place he would escape to, especially when his father was in one of his moods.

As he continued to walk, weaving between the trees and stepping over fallen branches, a flash of movement ahead caught his eye. The woman was tall, willowy, with soft-looking waves of dark brown hair cascading down her back. It was a sight that stirred something within him—a deep sense of recognition and admiration.

Dorian was rooted to the spot, unable to look away from the beautiful woman whose back was to him.

“Eleanor?”

She began to walk. Her steps were graceful, as if her feet did not once touch the forest floor. Her movements were slow, and yet her hair fell behind her like a banner in the wind, fluttering and billowing.

Dorian followed, a small smile playing on his lips. Was it that she wished to be chased? He was happy to oblige. He moved slowly at first but then quickened his pace, trying to close the distance between them.

The forest, which moments ago had been filled with warmth and sunlight, began to transform around him. Shadows deepened and closed in on him, devouring the light and the softness of the air. It was growing colder, and soon Dorian could see his own breath before his eyes. The once-friendly-looking trees took on a more ominous appearance, their branches reaching for him like gnarled fingers. And yet, ahead of him, Eleanor continued to walk without a single care.

“Eleanor, wait!” he called, his voice tinged with desperation.

Twisting roots emerged from the undergrowth, clawing at his ankles and attempting to trip him as he attempted to keep pace with her. She did not quicken her steps, nor slow down. She was completely untouched by the encroaching darkness. Her entire form seemed to glow, like a beacon.

Once again, he called out to her, but she did not respond. His words echoed back to him, almost mockingly. Pushing himself harder than ever before, he ran toward her, his hand outstretched to grab her. His fingertips only grazed her hair as he stumbled forward, losing his balance.

As he fell, the forest seemed to swallow him whole.

His eyes snapped open, revealing the canopy overhead. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest, thundering in his ears as his muscles tensed. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead as he fought to catch his breath.

Nightmares were no stranger to him, but this had been something else entirely. For the first time in a long while, he felt afraid.

“It was only a dream,” he murmured as he sat up in bed.

The covers fell down, exposing his bare chest and stomach. The cool air in the room offered some relief, but there was no settling his nerves. He ran a shaky hand through his disheveled hair, attempting to ground himself.

His room was still, quiet, and dark. Dorian slowly rose from the bed and walked over to the window. Pulling back the curtains, he could see nothing but pitch black beyond the window. He had slept all day and into the night. His heart still racing, he leaned over, his hands on either side of the windowpane as he stretched, letting the cool air embrace his bare body.

It likely wasn’t past midnight, not just yet at least. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to clear his mind. He was all too aware that he would be marrying Eleanor tomorrow, and yet the looming threat seemed to be haunting him. He was no closer to discovering who was threatening them.

His mind continued to race, so much so that his head began to ache. Opening his eyes, he glanced down into the dark courtyard. He was about to turn away when a flash of movement, a shadow among shadows, caught his attention. His vision narrowed on the figure, following it as it moved closer and closer to the house.

Is my mind playing tricks on me?

He rubbed his eyes and looked back down, half-expecting the shape to be gone, but it remained still. Something deep within his gut, an instinct, told him that the shadow did not belong there. He doubted it was one of the few servants, and the silhouette was too tall to be that of some animal.

Swiftly, he crossed the room to the chest of drawers in the far corner. He pulled open the top drawer, digging through the contents until he felt the leather sheath of the dagger. Dorian, unbothered by his state of undress, rushed out the door in a heartbeat and soon found himself headed for the side entrance of the house.

Was someone truly foolish enough to come here?

A part of him hoped it was the person who had threatened him, though he was sure that such a person would not dirty their own hands. If anything, it had been someone hired to frighten him, but still. If he could get his hands on someone like that, he would be able to extract information from them, and he had every intention of doing just that. No matter what.

Dorian crept silently down the hallways. His senses were heightened, and his heart was thundering in his ears. The house was dark and eerily silent as he moved. No one was awake—a small mercy, given the circumstances. He knew the hallways, steps, and corners like the back of his hand.

Determination etched his face as he descended the servants’ staircase. The darkness of the house seemed to wrap around him like a lover’s embrace. Turning his head, he listened for any hint of life, and soon was met with the sound of rustling fabric. It was faint, echoing down the hallway that led to the side door.

Whoever has dared to break in, they are lacking in stealth and speed.

Hiding behind a wall, he waited, his fingers tightening on the dagger as he pulled it out of the sheath. Excitement rippled through him, hovering like the anticipation of a kiss. Footsteps approached slowly, cautiously, but they were still loud enough to be obvious.

The moment the shadowy figure emerged, he struck.

Dorian stepped behind them just as they passed his hiding spot, and he effortlessly grabbed them from the back. His hand slipped around their front, his palm pressing against their chest, as the other held the dagger against their throat. The shadow was pinned against his bare chest.

A sharp intake of breath echoed in the darkness.

Dorian closed his eyes, inhaling, and then he froze. There was something so familiar about the person pressed against him, from their soft curves to the smell of their hair. A sweet, soft scent filled his senses, and his eyes widened in disbelief as confusion and relief washed over him at once.

“Eleanor,” he breathed.

Eleanor was frozen against him, her body stiff. He could feel her heart thundering in her chest, his hand still pressed between her breasts. Dorian should have released her, he knew, but he could not bring himself to do it just yet. The shock had left him just as still as his beautiful captive.

Slowly, he lowered the dagger and then tossed it aside, listening to the clinking sound of metal on the floor. He did not release her. In fact, he only held her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her as he buried his face in her hair.

So close… I was so close to…

“You really do know how to make an entrance,” he whispered.

She relaxed slightly. “You certainly know how to welcome guests.”

He held back a smirk at her comment and then stepped away from her, almost hesitantly. Dorian could barely make her out in the darkness of the hallway, save for her willowy figure and the shape of her gown. As she turned, he could feel her eyes boring into him.

“I need to speak with you,” she said in an uncertain voice.

Dorian frowned. “So much so that you could not wait until tomorrow?”

“I would’ve spoken to you sooner if you were not so busy avoiding me and prowling the streets at night,” she snapped as she took a step closer.

She was so close that he could feel her breath against his bare chest and neck.

Her words sank into him, striking a nerve. Of course, she did not know the reason for his absence—she couldn’t.

Dorian swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure, all the while pushing down any feelings he had to the pit of his stomach. He needed to keep some distance between them, no matter how difficult that was, at least until he could be certain that she was safe. Until he knew the threat was eliminated.

“You should not be here,” he said flatly.

She was so close that it took all of his strength not to reach out and gather her in his arms, to kiss her. He thought of pressing her up against the wall beside them and making her his right then and there. The desire was maddening, and his self-control was hanging by a thread.

“I am not leaving until you listen to what I have to say.” She was firm, though her voice was quavering.

He believed her. Even if he picked her up and carried her back to Berkley Estate, something told him she would return with her demands.

“Fine,” he relented. “But we will not speak here. Come with me.”

And with that, he reached into the darkness and took her hand in his. Turning, he guided her through the dark hallway. He had considered bringing her to his room, where there would be absolutely no interruptions, but he knew that if she were there alone with him, he would not be able to control himself. Even now, navigating through the pitch-black hallway was a challenge.

He brought her to the study, where he would at least be able to keep some distance between them. Once inside, he lit the candles scattered about the room, bathing the space in a dim, amber glow.

Her hair was a mess around her shoulders. Her updo had come loose and hung low at the back of her head. Eleanor was completely disheveled, no doubt from how he had handled her, and he was not sure that she had ever looked so beautiful.

Moving to his desk, he pulled out his chair. He hesitated to sit down, feeling her gaze on him. As he turned to face her again, he could see the flush rising to her face, neck, and chest. Had he done something?

Her eyes darted downward, quickly taking in his state of undress.

Dorian stood in nothing more than his drawers. He did not feel a moment of embarrassment, nor did he rush to cover himself. Admittedly, he liked the way she was eying him, the way she was trying so desperately to avert her gaze. Slowly, he sat in his chair and indicated the one across from him.

Eleanor frowned. “I would rather stand.”

“Very well,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “What was so very important that you had to break into my home to tell me?”

She looked flustered. “You have been avoiding me.”

He did not respond, there was no reason to. They both knew she was right. He had been avoiding her, and he would’ve continued if she had not suddenly appeared in the middle of the night.

Dorian racked his brain for an excuse for his behavior, something that could convince her without revealing the truth, but there was nothing. And above all else, blatantly lying to her felt wrong.

“Why? Have I done something⁠—”

“You haven’t done anything,” he interrupted, much to her frustration and relief.

Dorian ran a hand through his hair and then turned his gaze to the bottle of brandy on the desk. It was an older bottle, though his maids had taken care to wipe the dust off it regularly. He reached for it and opened it, taking a swig from it as his eyes remained on her.

Eleanor watched him and then stepped forward, snatching the bottle from his hand. She was half tempted to throw it against the wall, to curse at him as it shattered into a thousand pieces, but instead, she brought it to her lips and took a long gulp.

The liquor burned pleasantly as it slid down her throat, warming her from the inside out. She closed her eyes, relishing the sensation as she tried to stop her racing thoughts. Eleanor knew that it was a drink meant to be savored, to be enjoyed, but she found she lacked the patience for such.

Eleanor shifted her gaze up to him, the bottle still pressed to her lips.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“Now,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes flashing with determination. Eleanor did not want answers. She needed them. “Explain.”

“Can’t you just leave it alone, Eleanor?”

She turned her back to him, her entire body tensing as frustration coursed through her veins. It took everything she had not to curse at him. Somehow, she managed to maintain her composure. She was torn between never wanting to see him again and wanting to see him more.

It seemed foolish that she would care this much, and yet she did.

“Do you not wish to continue with this?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Dorian stood up, his chair scraping across the floor. Without a word, he walked over to her. Eleanor did not turn to face him, but she knew he was there. His presence bore down on her, and she could not evade him.

“I did not know you were so excited about our wedding,” he said flatly, as if mocking her.

Eleanor spun on her heel, glaring up at him. “I want the truth.”

Dorian tilted his head to the side. His eyes bored into hers, and she hoped he was feeling the fire burning within her in the depths of his core. This rage, the frustration and tension in the air, they were all palpable and only seemed to draw her in further.

He was close, so close that she couldn’t seem to make up her mind to pull him in by the collar and kiss him, or push him back. Her heart thundered in her chest, her mind swirling with questions, doubts, and, above all else, mounting desire.

“You want the truth, my lady?”

She nodded, unable to avert her gaze. “Yes, because this is nothing like you.”

“They call me the Mad Duke for a reason, you know? And they are right to call me such. I am mad. And yet you do not cower from me—only seem to vex me more and more. You are either brave or stupid to come to me, in secret, in the middle of the night.”

She knew he had meant to insult her, to drive her away. But his words did nothing but draw her in further, like a moth to a flame. A foolish moth.

Eleanor stepped forward, her face tilted up to his, her gaze unwavering. She was not afraid of him, not at all.

“I must be just as mad, then,” she said sharply.

He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Because I should wish to hurt you right now, but all I can think about is how much I want to do this.”

She did not give him a chance to react. She reached up and took his face between both hands.

Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed against him, and then she kissed him. Her lips fell on his hard, demanding, and within a moment, he pulled her closer.

I truly must be mad.