Page 29 of A Virgin to Trap the Earl of Thornhill
On her left, Charity Eastwick was prattling on about the latest trends in Parisian fashion. “Did you know, Miss Eris,” she said, pulling her out of her reverie, “that they are bringing back the turban-style bonnets?”
Eris smiled, feigning interest, as Charity continued to narrate in explicit detail the intricate designs of the bonnets, the materials used, and the exquisite craftsmanship involved. The aroma of the lemon posset, light and tangy, filled the air as the servants brought out the dessert. The subtle tartness contrasted nicely with the sweet, creamy flavor, but Eris found it difficult to focus on the food. Her mind was elsewhere.
The gentle clink of spoons against porcelain and the low murmur of polite conversation filled the room. Yet, amid it all, she was acutely aware of William’s presence across the table. Every now and then, she would feel his gaze on her, feel the heat of it, but she resolutely kept her eyes away.
She had a role to play, a mission to accomplish. And getting tangled up with William was not part of the plan.
Eris excused herself from the table, eager to escape the constant battle of wills that the evening had become. She had barely stepped out of the dining room when she was waylaid by her parents.
“Eris, what is going on with you and Lord Thornhill?” her mother demanded, her eyes flashing with disappointment.
“What do you mean? There is nothing between us, Mother. I have hardly spoken to him this evening,” Eris replied, trying to keep the strain from her voice, but it was clear that her parents were not convinced.
“Then why did Lieutenant Hudson leave for duty suddenly? Have you done something to upset him?” her father asked, his usually jovial face clouded with worry.
Eris felt a knot form in her throat. “I can hardly control the schedules of the British Navy, Father.”
His eyes narrowed, and in a tone she had rarely heard, he reprimanded her, “That is not an answer, Eris, and I will not tolerate such cheek!”
Stung by the rebuke, Eris felt the burn of tears behind her eyes. She looked at her parents, her heart heavy with guilt and regret. She had never wanted to disappoint them, but she was torn, caught between her family’s expectations and the undeniable pull she felt toward William.
Biting her lip, she nodded, the words ‘I am sorry’ catching in her throat. She watched as her parents walked away, leaving her alone in the hallway. Eris leaned against the wall, her heart pounding. The enormity of her predicament washed over her. She was playing with fire, and she knew it.
But the thought of William, the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel, made the danger seem almost worth it. With a deep breath, she composed herself, smoothing down her dress. She had to be strong for herself and for her family.
With a last glance at her reflection in a nearby mirror, she steeled herself and stepped into the drawing room.
Stepping into the grand drawing room, Eris was greeted by a lively assembly. The guests congregated around a large mahogany table. Their attention centered on the intricate game of Speculation that was being set up. Eris had spent countless hours playing such games in the family’s salon, though never under circumstances quite like these.
“Miss Eris! Please do join us in the game!” Felicity was all smiles as she nearly dragged Eris to sit with the party.
Unfortunately for her, the game dictated that she be seated next to William. His nearness stirred a dormant awareness within her, his scent, a compelling blend of citrus and sandalwood filling her senses. She forced herself to focus on the task at hand, desperate not to let him see how he affected her.
Speculation was a game of daring and luck requiring players to bid on the holder of the highest card in a given suit. It was a game that demanded concentration and strategy which Eris was grateful for. She needed something to distract her from William’s potent presence.
As the game began, players jockeyed for position, boasting and bargaining as they vied for the upper hand. Coins clinked, cards rustled, and Eris found herself steadily drawn into the familiar rhythm of the game. All the while, she was acutely aware of every glance William sent her way, every brush of his hand against hers as they reached for their drinks. It was all too much.
“Miss Eris, it appears we are of the same mind,” William said with a wry grin, their hands having collided once again over the pot of coins in the center of the table. His tone was light, but his gaze was intense, filled with an unspoken challenge.
She withdrew her hand quickly, her pulse fluttering under his attention. “It would seem so, Lord Thornhill,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. “May the best player win.”
The game continued, the stakes rising with each passing moment. It was no longer just about Speculation. Now it was a dance, a dangerous, intoxicating dance of glances and stolen touches veiled beneath the pretense of the game. But how much longer could she keep up this charade, she wondered, when she felt like she was already losing to the Earl of Thornhill in the most perilous game of all?
As the game continued, the tension between Eris and William mounted. The air between them was charged, every glance, every word layered with a subtle undercurrent of challenge. They traded barbs and jests, their exchanges escalating with every hand dealt.
“Lord Thornhill, do you always make it a point to purchase every king that turns up?” Eris asked with a sardonic smile, echoing the general sentiment of the other players.
“Only when I am certain it will bring me victory, Miss Eris,” William retorted, a playful glint in his eyes.
Their banter elicited laughter from their fellow guests, the sharpness of their words mitigated by their seemingly good-natured demeanor. Yet, beneath the surface, an electric current of attraction buzzed, drawing them into a dance neither had anticipated.
“Good gracious,” Lady Marianne exclaimed from across the table, fanning herself in faux distress, “the two of you are like a pair of wildcats ready to engage in battle. It is a card game, not a duel!”
Her words brought an unexpected silence to the table. Eris felt a flush creep up her cheeks, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. She looked at William, who merely quirked an eyebrow in amusement, clearly enjoying the sudden spotlight.
“Ah, well, I —” Eris stammered, taken aback. She glanced around, her gaze landing on Sir Percival Fairchild, who was watching the entire scene with an amused grin. In desperate need of a change of scenery and company, she hastily excused herself and made her way toward him. William’s watchful gaze bore into her back, the intensity of his attention a physical weight that only added to her already heightened senses. Eris approached Sir Percival with a polite smile on her face. “Sir Percival, I hope the evening finds you well?”
The older gentleman turned to her with a sigh. “Ah, Miss Eris, as radiant as ever, but I am afraid the evening does not find me well. My pursuit of the Dowager Countess seems as futile as trying to pluck the moon from the sky, but I am composing a poem that is sure to win her heart.”
