Page 32 of Eliza and the Duke
She closed her eyes before she said the next part. She wouldn’t be able to take it if any part of him showed any sort of revulsion. “Would it be all right if we…if we pretendedthat things were different for the next few minutes? If we pretended that we’re in love—”
His mouth crushed hers at the same time his arms came around her. She opened to him and his tongue swept inside her. He pulled her onto his lap, and her hands pushed inside his coat, eager to feel him. Her palms explored the planes of his chest, his hard pectoral muscles to his soft but firm stomach. His hands were no less greedy in their exploration. They roamed inside her cloak and she cursed how thick the material of her dress was and how many layers came between them. His palm cradled her breast and her nipple pebbled in response, but she didn’t know if he could feel it.
When they paused for air, his hot gaze met hers in the dark, seeking more. She nodded and he made something that sounded like a groan deep in his throat. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, and then her neck. “Simon,” she gasped when his teeth touched her skin. He bit right where her neck met her dress, making her break out in gooseflesh.
“Eliza,” he whispered, kissing that very spot. Then he sighed and buried his face there.
She held him close, her fingers buried in the hair at the back of his head. She swore she could feel his heart beating against her own breasts. His hat had taken her place on the bench seat at some point.
The carriage slowed and Simon lifted her off his lap a second before the driver opened the hatch overhead.
They had arrived. The night was over.
She waited for him to hand the fare up to the driver and for the hatch to be firmly shut before she said, “You know which bedroom—”
“Eliza.” He spoke in a low warning tone that had her smiling. It was the same way he’d said her name when she’d teasedhim in the hallway at home. Rifling in his coat, he pulled out her purse and handed it to her.
She had been teasing him. He knew where her bedroom was and likely how to come inside without anyone being the wiser. But she hadn’t been seriously suggesting he do something like that. Not that she would turn him away…
“Good night, Simon.”
The dark clouds in his expression parted, and he looked at her like he had a moment earlier. Like she was someone he could love…or maybe already did. There was heat simmering beneath the surface, but that wasn’t what caught her. That wasn’t love. She saw something deeper in his eyes. Something vulnerable and pure. The very presence of it caused a lump to build in her throat. She hurried to disembark the carriage before she did something truly impulsive.
“Good night, Eliza.” His voice carried after her, low and deep.
She swore she heard the sound of it reverberating inside her even after she laid her head down to sleep. Her good angel breathed a sigh of relief. The night was done and she was home and now they could get on with it. But her bad angel beat her wings in fury, raging that they weren’t finished. This isn’t how it was supposed to end.
Seventeen
Life was meant to goon as it had before Simon Cavell had come into Eliza’s life. She awoke the day after their night out convinced that it would. She missed him. She had expected to miss him, but that didn’t mean she would allow herself to wallow in her feelings. She promised herself that this time her good angel would win. The poor thing deserved an occasional win, even if Eliza wasn’t completely happy with the idea of her winning.
She stumbled down to the drawing room the next morning. She had spent what little was left of the night tossing and turning in a restless sleep that had made her irritable but resolved to get on with things. Her mother and sister were already there.
“Good morning, darling.” Her mother looked up from her newspaper and offered her cheek for a kiss. She had folded her curvy frame into an armchair with a cup of coffee balanced on the plush upholstery. The creamy liquid in the cup smelledlike heaven, much nicer than the strong and bitter brew she had shared with Simon.
Eliza dutifully gave her a peck on the cheek. “Good morning, Mama, Jenny.”
Jenny sat on the sofa, also swathed in a dressing gown, a slight but knowing smile on her face as her gaze tracked Eliza to the silver tray service that held an extra cup along with the cream and sugar she’d need to make herself a proper cup of coffee.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Fanny asked.
“Yes, how are you feeling?” Jenny echoed the sentiment but with a certain tone that Eliza didn’t appreciate. It made her think her sister had come into her bedroom and found her gone. Jenny wouldn’t tell anyone, but she would have many questions, and Eliza didn’t know how much she was prepared to share. Her feelings for Simon had changed over the course of the night and become deep and complicated in ways she wasn’t ready to examine.
“Better, I think, tired still but no headache.” Eliza prepared her coffee and avoided looking directly at her sister as she made her way to the sofa.
“Good, you really don’t want to miss many nights out,” her mother said. “Once you’re married, Mainwaring will undoubtedly tag along and—no offense, darling—he’s a bore.”
He was a bore. Eliza brought the cup to her lips and savored the first creamy sip. She’d need it to fortify herself, because even thinking about being faced with Mainwaring every day andnotSimon’s mischievous grin was not settling well with her.
“What is it he said at the house party?” Fanny asked.
Jenny sat up straighter and cleared her throat. Affecting an upper-class English accent that Eliza was convinced was taught to these men at their boarding schools, she said, “ ‘Teain the afternoon is a digestive boon, Miss Eliza, but do not be seduced by the heady flavor. Imbibe any later in the day and ’twill have quite the opposite effect than one intended. One shall find’—”
Eliza held up her hand to stop the recitation. “Thank you for that reminder.” He had gone on to lecture them for nearly ten whole minutes on the delicacies of their digestive tracts and how weak bone broths and the avoidance of spices was necessary to preserve their health. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d given any thought to his own health during his coffeehouse visits.
Fanny and Jenny dissolved into bouts of laughter, but Eliza couldn’t find the humor in the situation. It wasn’t the fact that he was boring that bothered Eliza. Had he gone on about the intricacies of tea production or had he been a purveyor of dietary health to a scientific degree because it was some great passion of his, she could have latched on to his lecture and found some glimmer of information that she hadn’t known to explore. But it was the pomposity of his delivery that had stuck with her.
She imagined herself surrounded by a table of their offspring fifteen years into the future while he lectured them on the proper drinking of tea. Or—heaven forbid!—what if she’d become a convert at that point and delivered the speech herself? What would she be like after a lifetime with him? Would she be her own person or would he have bent her to his will? What would it be like to raise children with him? Tocreatechildren with him?
