Enchanting the Duke (The Seven Curses of London Book 11) Page 5

  She nearly didn’t hear the guesses coming from the others.

  “Kissing.”

  “Bough.”

  “Evergreen.”

  “Kissing bough.”

  Were they being deliberately obtuse? If someone didn’t guess, he was going to kiss her.

  His breath fanned her lips and her stomach did a slow flip even as liquid heat poured through her in anticipation.

  “Mistletoe!”

  Douglas halted, his gaze lifting to meet hers. Then he drew back. Without kissing her. She nearly followed him as every fiber of her being desperately wanted that kiss.

  “That is the correct word.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze then turned to face the guests.

  Luckily, the attention of their audience shifted to the next pair who was drawing their word.

  Eleanor sighed with pent-up longing as she tried to regain her balance. Yet how could she when her body pulsed with desire? Surely he wasn’t immune to that unfulfilled moment. A glance out of the corner of her eye neither confirmed nor denied his feelings.

  She bit her lip. Somehow she had to find out if he wanted their kiss as much as she did.

  ~*~

  Douglas breathed a sigh of relief that Eleanor was already sleeping when he entered their bedchamber later that evening. Perhaps now he could put thoughts of her and their almost kiss from his mind. A glass of brandy with Burbridge, Sloane, and Beaumont hadn’t done the trick.

  He quickly and quietly undressed, then moved to douse the single candle on Eleanor’s side, only to pause. A familiar book was on her nightstand, The Farmer’s Every Day Book. The tome had been required reading by his grandfather when Douglas was young. He could still recite portions of it. A closer look revealed a ribbon nearly a quarter of the way through the book marked her page. Why would she be reading it? His thoughts raced at the possible reasons.

  He rubbed his chest at the odd pressure within it then snuffed out the candle and slipped into bed, closing his eyes with determination only to pop them open after only a moment. What would make her want to read that book?

  His body remembered the closeness with her earlier far too well. He’d dearly hoped no one would guess their charade until he’d pressed his lips to hers. Blast Beaumont for interrupting the moment too soon.

  He drew a deep breath in an attempt to relax, but the sweet scent of her teased his nostrils. The hint of warmth from her body lured him as if she’d crooked her finger in his direction. He wanted nothing more than to press against the length of her and wake her with his caresses and kisses. Need pulsed through him at the thought.

  He couldn’t possibly indulge himself again. With as much focus as he could muster, he searched for something to control his thoughts and settled on recounting the steps to repair a tenant’s roof, hoping that would lull him to sleep.

  Step one, remove the damaged portion that couldn’t be saved.

  Step two—

  Damn. What was step two?

  Eleanor sighed in her sleep, the soft, sweet sound tightening his body. All of his body. Including his staff.

  Step one, remove the— She turned toward him, shifting closer with another sigh.

  He held still, willing himself not to reach for her.

  Step one— Her soft hand settled on his chest, just above his lowest rib, and he forgot all about roof repair. His body flared to life, and he ached with need as if it had been months since he’d last found satisfaction rather than the previous night.

  Then her hand shifted, its movement slow, its path uncertain. Lower, he wanted to whisper.

  Was she awake? He listened closely but couldn’t tell for certain.

  Her hand fluttered again, this time settling on his bare hip, and he couldn’t help the quiet moan that escaped his lips. As if encouraged, that hand moved again, up and down along his side, then over his belly, finding the thin trail of hair that grew there.

  She was definitely awake. Wasn’t she?

  He’d had no idea she was capable of arousing him like this. No, that was a lie. Merely looking at her aroused him. No wonder he had insisted on limiting his interaction with her. But this sweet torture made obeying that rule nearly impossible.

  That tantalizing hand danced lower still, and his breath caught as she trailed her fingers along his already hard staff.

  And he was lost. Rules be damned. He reached for her with both hands.

  Chapter Five

  Eleanor looked one last time in the cheval glass and nodded. The pale green wool suited her coloring and complimented her hair quite nicely. Though she knew it was silly, she couldn’t deny the boost of confidence wearing a new gown gave her. Hopefully, Douglas would notice and approve. That was if she saw him before darkness fell.

  Last night had been wonderful. The memory of how he’d returned her advances brought heat to her cheeks, not to mention other parts of her body. She couldn’t help but feel as if they were slowly becoming more of a couple since their arrival.

  Being forced to spend at least the nights together was helping. With luck and effort, she hoped a few more nights of sharing a bed might bring more to their relationship, something beyond the physical connection they found in the darkest hours.

  The fact that he continued to rise before she did, leaving her alone every morning, stung. But she need only think of the passion that had overtaken them both during the night to ease the sting. Then there was his compliment regarding her musical talent and that almost kiss while playing charades. She bit her lip as she pondered the meaning of those moments.

  Did Douglas feel any part of what she did? Were his feelings for her growing? The question concerned her. She wished there were more ways for them to become closer. No matter how minor, she wanted to find another opportunity to show him how lovely their marriage could be. How perfect they could be together.

  It came as no surprise that he wasn’t in the dining room when she joined a few of the other guests to break her fast. He ate early at home, too.

  “Rumor has it that the weather will take a turn for the worse this afternoon,” Mrs. Sloane said as she took a seat beside Eleanor.

  “Oh?” Eleanor was still adjusting to the new version of Lady Samantha, or rather, Mrs. Sloane. The previous one would’ve taken great pleasure in delivering well-aimed barbs at all who crossed her path. Mrs. Sloane was a kinder, gentler form of that woman though Eleanor still waited for glimmers of the old edition.

  Her husband was delightful, even if he often seemed uncomfortable with both the company and the setting of the house party. His upbringing had already proven invaluable to sift through the ideas for the charity that the guests had discussed. Mrs. Sloane had shared with a certain pride that his mother raised him on the rough streets of London by herself. His father, a duke, had little to do with his illegitimate son until earlier in the year. They were still in the process of navigating their relationship.

  The story made Eleanor curious. But she didn’t know Mrs. Sloane well enough to delve too deeply into her changed outlook let alone her husband’s background.

  “Burbridge advised us there will be a storm this afternoon but said we shouldn’t hope for snow.” Mrs. Sloane took a bite of toast then reached for her tea.

  “Snow would certainly make the party feel more festive,” Eleanor offered, “but perhaps rain and cold will be enough to keep us gathered around the fire.” The image pleased her, especially when she thought of Douglas alongside her.

  “Excellent point.” Mrs. Sloane smiled with satisfaction. “I don’t think I’ve enjoyed a Christmas more than this one.”

  “Says the newlywed,” Eleanor teased.

  “You are one as well. Don’t you find the upcoming holiday especially wonderful this year?”

  “Yes.” Eleanor could hardly admit otherwise without revealing the reason behind her marriage—convenience. Yet she realized her anticipation for Christmas was greater than normal. Now that a few tender moments with Douglas had allowed her hope for the future to bloom o
nce more, she found that all the season’s activities carried extra meaning. “Yes, I do.”

  The morning passed slowly with the ladies together in the drawing room to sew simple cloth dolls for the little girls in the orphanage. They were not much bigger than Eleanor’s hand and made of old bed linens with embroidery thread stitched to make a face and yarn for hair. As they worked on equally small clothes for the dolls along with little aprons that matched what the girls in the orphanage wore, Eleanor found herself wishing they could do more.

  She wanted to make certain the children on their estates were taken care of first before she delved into doing more for the orphanage. She frowned in concentration as she considered the idea. What would truly make a difference for those in need who lived on Rothbury land? More than just a meal to tide them over. Something meaningful that would make a difference for their future. Yet she didn’t want to step on the pride of the families either.

  Whispers from nearby caught her ears.

  “The Dour Duchess is at it again. Just look at her scowl.”

  “You’d think she would make more of an effort to be merry now that she is wed to Rothbury. Shouldn’t she want to at least try to make him smile?”

  “If I were married to the handsome duke, he wouldn’t be dour anymore.” Giggles followed the murmured claim.

  Hurt and embarrassment warred within Eleanor as she jerked to her feet. Acknowledging the painful words would only add fuel to the fire of gossip, but she couldn’t help it. She had to escape.

  “How dare they.” Lillian rose, her gaze focused on the pair but Eleanor reached for her arm to halt her.

  “Please don’t say anything,” Eleanor pleaded though she didn’t meet Lillian’s gaze. She couldn’t bear the pity in her friend’s expression.

  “But—”

  Eleanor shook her head. “Saying anything will only cause more gossip. I’d rather ignore them.”

  She felt like a coward saying that. If she were stronger, she’d march over to those ladies herself and deliver a cutting remark that would make them think twice about saying such hurtful things about anyone.

  But at the moment, she wasn’t strong. Nor was she brave. She was only a woman who longed for her husband to care for her but feared she wasn’t enough to earn his regard.

  She didn’t feel anything like a duchess, dour or otherwise.

  “I am in need of some fresh air,” she managed as she stared at the doll in her hands. Then she set it aside and strode out of the room, moving toward her bedchamber where she donned her half-boots and a hooded cloak. Tears pricked her eyes even as she berated herself for allowing their comments to find purchase.

  The truth was they hurt because they were true. She had been so certain that by now she’d be able to make Douglas fall in love with her. How naive she was. How ridiculous of her to think she had any traits necessary to earn not just his respect and physical affection but his love.

  She’d been acting like a young girl rather than a woman who should concentrate on her new duties. Winning his love was impossible when she wasn’t sure if he even admired her. The only path to earn that was to act like a duchess rather than thinking like a lovesick girl would. She’d been going about the situation the wrong way.

  She hurried down the stairs, nodding stiffly at the few guests she passed but avoiding conversation. By the time she reached the front door, her breath was heaving with the need to release the pent-up emotions rushing through her.

  “Might I call a coach, your grace?” the butler asked as he reached to open the door for her.

  “No need. I’m merely going for a walk,” she managed and made good her escape.

  The brisk air stung her cheeks, but she welcomed the cold. Anything to ease her embarrassment along with the tears that threatened.

  How ridiculous to feel sorry for herself she thought as she marched across the sloping lawn that soon gave way to fields. She had so much compared to the poor children they had gathered to help. A roof over her head, food at every meal, fine clothes to wear, and a purpose to fill her days.

  She shouldn’t be unhappy. But the heaviness in her heart couldn’t be denied. The tears came after all, rushing down her cheeks as she continued to walk. Was there some lack within her that kept Douglas from caring for her? She hated that he’d only chosen her for her dowry. That knowledge stole her confidence, leaving doubt in its wake.

  She was wise enough to know the passion they shared in bed didn’t necessarily involve true emotion on the man’s part. Her mother had a long talk with her about a man’s needs prior to her wedding. And the chatter of the parlor maids had given her a more practical guide to masculine behavior. Sex and love were not necessarily intertwined, especially for the male species.

  But they were for her. If only she could find some distance between them. The past two nights with Douglas had deepened her feelings. However, she had no reason to believe the same was true for him.

  Weary of her circling thoughts, she focused on her surroundings, moving toward the woods where a trail along the forest edge beckoned.

  Though the air was cold and the sky heavy with dark clouds, the beauty of the countryside couldn’t be denied. She’d enjoyed long walks in her younger days and found the same peace in her soul now.

  Fresh air, quiet, and exercise were both invigorating and calming. Fog settled in the low areas, drifting past her, bringing with it a certain coziness to the atmosphere.

  On and on she walked, reliving moments of the past few days, then earlier encounters with Douglas. She gathered the few memories of the times when he had shown tenderness. Why did he do so only at night? Not that he was ever rude. Just...distant during the day.

  What in his past made him so focused on duty that he never allowed himself joy? From what she’d seen, he had no close friends, no confidants, other than his steward. In fact, she’d been pleased to see his relationship with Burbridge grow since their arrival. The two seemed to have found a great deal to talk about.

  She’d walked for some time, sorting through her emotions, when she paused to look over her shoulder, realizing the grand house was now out of sight. With a frown, she wondered how far she’d come. A freezing drizzle began and penetrated the partial canopy the woods provided.

  After a deep, cleansing breath, she resolved to turn back. Her return would be a miserable one in the cold and wet. But the walk had helped to return her equilibrium. She couldn’t allow the comments of others to change her course. Nor could she hope to change Douglas. She could only change herself and manage her expectations.

  While she might never gain Douglas’s affection, she was determined to do what she could to be the sort of wife he would admire. To be a good duchess. In time, perhaps they could be friends, at least. If only their marriage of convenience didn’t provide material for gossip, but that wasn’t within her control.

  Lillian and Burbridge appeared so happy and bonded that little could be said about their relationship. Eleanor hoped that in time, that might be true for her and Douglas as well. If not, it might be best if she kept away from social events where she encountered people like Lady Elizabeth and her friends.

  She adjusted the hood of her cloak and shivered as the cold and damp seeped through her clothing. The weather was growing worse. Between the fog and rain, it was impossible to see more than a few paces ahead. She stared through the trees as she walked but saw nothing of the house or the sweep of lawn that led to it.

  Her foot caught and she fell, landing on a sharp rock on the edge of the path. She gasped at the shooting pain in her hip. Her search for a familiar landmark rather than watching the trail caused her to miss seeing a gnarled root that jutted up from the ground. Tears filled her eyes once more as she pressed her gloved fingers to her aching hip.

  Worry struck her. How far had she walked? Should she leave the path and hope she came upon the house? Or had she wandered off course when she’d been tangled up in her thoughts? Uncertainty filled her along with another shiver. Then
another. She sat up then gained her feet. Her hip ached like the devil with each step, but at least she could still walk though not as quickly as she’d have liked given the conditions.

  The temperature had dropped significantly and now that her pace had slowed, she realized she was chilled to the bone. Her woolen gown was nearly as soaked as her cloak, and her toes were numb in her boots. She hadn’t gone far before she had to pause to let the pain subside once more.

  This was ridiculous, she scolded herself even as she shivered again. It wasn’t as if she had crossed hills and valleys. There was no need for alarm. The house would surely be visible soon. Wouldn’t it?

  ~*~

  Douglas cursed the freezing rain that made it impossible to see as he rode down the lawn toward the fields. The wind had picked up, its biting force cutting through his topcoat but doing little to clear the fog. What had Eleanor been thinking? What would make her leave the warmth of the house and her friends for a walk alone in these conditions?

  Lillian shared that Eleanor had been upset over something she’d overheard the other ladies say nearly two hours ago. That left a wide area to cover since he only had a general direction of her path courtesy of the butler.

  His horse jerked at the reins, no more pleased to be out in the foul weather than he was. The rain had frozen on the grass and made for slippery footing. He didn’t dare increase the pace.

  As he continued his search, his anger quieted and fear took its place. Had some harm befallen her? Had she twisted her ankle and was unable to move? Protectiveness swept over him, surprising him with its strength. Surely the feeling was no different than he would’ve felt if one of his tenants were missing.

  His lips twisted at the lie. Eleanor was more to him than that. He had thought he’d been successful at keeping her at arm’s length. After all, emotions of any sort were not part of his vocabulary. The past few days—or should he say nights?—with her had allowed the lure of her to override his better judgment. That couldn’t continue or he’d find himself love-struck and more than willing to set aside his duties to spend time with her.