Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Iwonder what she’s thinking…

She did not pry or ask the questions that he was sure were there, in the back of her mind, and for that he was grateful. It was a small mercy, he knew, but it was one he could appreciate more than he could express.

And there certainly was much to ask.

As they continued to walk down the illuminated path, his curiosity only seemed to grow. Dorian’s eyes surreptitiously traced her profile. She was a truly captivating woman, and he could not help but admire the genuine wonder that lit up her features as she took in the scenery.

The path had been a surprise to him as well. When they emerged from the tunnel of ivy, he had not been expecting it, but it was a stunning sight, indeed. For some reason, he wanted her to see it suddenly—to take it in at once. Perhaps he wished to see her expression.

Continuing down the winding path, Lady Eleanor’s warm hand rested on his arm, a touch that stirred a myriad of feelings within him. He could not suppress the wayward thought that perhaps those delicate fingers would feel just as enchanting elsewhere, a thought that made a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

In an effort to break the gentle silence, he looked down at her. “Tell me, Lady Eleanor, what is your favorite color?” he asked, attempting to distract himself from his lewd thoughts.

“Are you truly asking me about my favorite color?” she chuckled.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response. Now he was truly curious.

Lady Eleanor looked ahead, a small smile playing on her lips. His eyes lingered there longer than they should have, but he could see the faint sheen on them in the glow of the lanterns.

“Orange,” she replied softly, her voice carrying a touch of wistfulness. “But not just any shade of it, mind you. It is the hue at sunset, soft and light. When the sun is on the horizon.”

Her response took him by surprise, but he could almost envision it. Dorian imagined the young woman on his arm watching the sunset from a window, the shades of a gentle, soft orange reflecting on her skin.

“And you, Your Grace? What is your favorite color?”

Dorian frowned, thinking. “I… I do not think I have one.”

Even after answering, he racked his brain for anything that might stir the same feelings that he heard in her voice, but nothing came to him. Everything had been so gray for such a long time that he struggled to envision any colors.

He could see where the path was leading them now, edging closer and closer to the mansion, and then back to the party. Dorian, selfishly, did not wish to let her return. Lady Eleanor was fine company.

Very fine company, indeed.

It seemed almost a shame for their wandering to end, but he knew as well as she did that her absence would be noticed—if it was not already. She had said her friend would be expecting her back, but they had been gone for some time.

He wanted to be greedy, to keep her to himself, but he could not.

“How long does this dare of yours continue for, Lady Eleanor?”

His question drew her attention as they walked back toward the balcony. Eleanor tilted her head to the side, trying to decipher his meaning. Was there a purpose to his question? Or was he simply just curious?

“Until the end of the night,” she answered slowly, a smile on her face.

“So, in theory, all I would need to do is ask you to marry me, and you would have no choice but to agree?”

Eleanor froze, her smile fading immediately. “In theory.”

“Do not fret, Lady Eleanor,” he said with a slight smile. “I would not force such a thing upon you, as tempting as it is. But… I do hope you will allow me to persuade you to consider it.”

Allow me to persuade you… what does he mean?

“Why would you wish to marry me, Your Grace?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she watched his expression.

To her disappointment, his expression didn’t falter.

His words rang in her ears, replaying like a song. As much as she tried, she could not make sense of it.

He just said the very idea of finding a wife is a nightmare, so why…? Perhaps he is only jesting.

That made more sense to her than anything else.

The duke shook his head. “It is not a matter of wanting to marry at all, Lady Eleanor—a sentiment with which I am sure you can agree. But, as I see it, you are in need of a husband. And I am in need of a wife.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Surely he is only teasing.

“All I ask of you are three things,” he said as he came to a halt.

Eleanor’s gaze bore into him, suspicion furrowing her brow as she grappled with a feeling of uncertainty. Was he teasing her, or was there something more beneath his words? The air crackled with tension as she turned to face him squarely, her chin raised in defiance.

Let him tease. I can do just the same.

She had little patience for these little, frivolous games, no matter how intriguing they might seem. “And what would those be, Your Grace?” she asked challengingly, her voice sharp.

The duke closed the distance between them, a daring glimmer in his eyes. He rose to her challenge eagerly, seemingly amused by her boldness. They stood, mere inches apart, his lips hovering over hers, a near-kiss that felt both thrilling and perilous.

If anyone were to see them, she would be ruined. Her efforts, her time and dedication until this point would have been all in vain. There was no excusing this behavior. And yet she could not convince herself to step back. She remained completely rooted to the spot.

“Spend a night with me,” he said in a deep, hungry voice.

His eyes were devouring her right then and there, shamelessly in the garden. Eleanor had never seen lust in a man, not this close or in person, but she knew it right then. It was unmistakable.

She could blame the dare, use the piece of paper as a scapegoat for her indiscretion, but she would be lying to herself. Now she understood why her dear Violet had done all the risky, scandalous things when she had come to know her husband. It was out of their control.

Eleanor’s gaze lowered to his mouth. “We shall see, Your Grace.”

He smirked at her response, as if expecting it.

“What is the second thing?” she dared to ask.

Her heart was pounding like a drum in her ears, the blood rushing to the surface of her skin. There was a feeling in the pit of her stomach, gnawing and begging for something out of reach.

Eleanor had every chance to turn, to flee from him, and pretend none of it had happened. But she wanted to know—no, she needed to know.

“Ah, yes, the second thing,” he started, his voice almost a growl in the back of his throat. The sound was enough to make her toes curl in her slippers.

The tension between them was as palpable as the night air. Eleanor’s breath caught in her throat as a whirlwind of emotions rushed through her. His eyes locked on hers, his gaze intense and unwavering. There was a silent question between them, hanging by a thin thread. His lips were achingly close to hers, and she could not deny her eagerness to taste them.

He ran a hand up her back, his fingertips brushing the nape of her neck in a way that made her shiver. Gooseflesh rose to her skin, prickling every inch of her body. He urged her closer still, with the option to retreat. Eleanor did not move, she did not wish to.

In a heartbeat, their lips met. The kiss was like a symphony of sensations, new and old, meeting and colliding. Eleanor melted against him, bringing her hands up to his collar and then gripping it as she pulled him closer to her. The duke’s hands slid down her back, pressing her against him as his tongue flicked against her bottom lip, demanding entry.

As he pulled her closer, she could feel his arousal against her abdomen, hard and stiff. She could only imagine his considerable size. She wanted to discover more, so she let her hand trail down his chest, slowly, torturing him as he groaned against her mouth. When her fingertips reached the top of his trousers, he quickly reached down, gripping her wrist begrudgingly, stopping her from continuing.

“You are already driving me mad, Lady Eleanor,” he breathed, his voice raspy. His grip tightened slightly, as if he were trying to convince himself to hold on. “To do that would be torture, indeed.”

He released her and kissed her more deeply, as if sinking into her all the while pulling her even closer. Eleanor’s entire body was reacting, pleading. She wanted more. She wanted it all.

Her heart was beating so loudly that she was certain he could hear it as well. Her blood was simmering in her veins, her breaths hot and erratic. Whatever this feeling was that he evoked within her, she could not get enough of it. It filled her core, burning through her veins and muscles, and the more she kissed him, the more she hoped it would never end.

But it had to.

Eleanor pulled back, breathless. “And the third thing?”

The duke smirked, shaking his head as he stepped back from her. His eyes were on her still, unyielding as he straightened. “I am afraid that must wait for another time,” he said in a rough voice, his gaze flicking back to her lips, as if debating kissing her again.

He subtly gestured toward the stairs, the same ones they had descended earlier. “Go on without me,” he said, his tone carrying a weight of caution. “Lest we rouse suspicion.”

Eleanor hesitated, still caught in the residual thrill of what had happened. She could taste him on her lips, and the thought alone made a flush spread across her skin.

Despite her reluctance, she nodded. “Goodnight, Your Grace,” she said with a habitual curtsy, before turning quickly for the stairs.

She was most glad that he could not see the blush burning in her cheeks, and she could only hope that the color would fade before she stepped inside.

As she ascended, her fingers grazing the railing, she stole one final look at him. Her heart clenched to see his gaze fixed on her, his expression pleasant enough, if not a bit cold. She thought this strange, but she did not ponder over it.

Reaching the door leading back into the ballroom, she took a deep breath and calmed herself. She relaxed her features, raising her chin and straightening her posture. No one inside could have the tiniest shred of suspicion, she could not allow it.

Eleanor pushed the door open and stepped inside, struck immediately by the sound of music and countless conversations at once. The urge to look over her shoulder almost overtook her. Almost.