Page 16 of Disguised Desires of a Scarred Duke
The sound of twigs snapping at the small park’s entrance made William push Eleanor a bit too forcefully away from him. She nearly ripped his shirt and almost fell backward to the ground.
When Eleanor’s maid reached them again, they were seated a couple of feet away from each other on the stone bench under the oak tree.
William had just buttoned his coat to cover his wrinkled shirt when Lottie stopped and stared at his face. She hadn’t got a good look at him until now; that was clear.
“Lottie, please don’t be rude. Mr Black and I are in the middle of a discussion. Would you wait on the other bench across from us? Thank you.”
Lottie curtsied and turned towards the opposite side of the little neighbourhood park to sit on a bench out of earshot. She tried not to look again at the duke’s face, but he knew she would do so again when he wasn’t looking.
As everyone did sooner or later.
“Mr Black, our connection is not without complications for me, as well. Whether or not we see each other again after today, you should know that my stepmother, Lady Whitfield, would not approve of you. But I have to admit that makes me want to see you all the more. I also worry about how our attraction could get us into … a troubling situation. So, being alone together is out of the question. It absolutely cannot happen again.”
After speaking these words with such conviction, Eleanor discreetly licked her lips while staring at his with what William could only describe as a bold gaze of blatant longing.
He damn near growled in response but let her continue.
“My cousin, the Earl of St Coeur, is hosting a soiree soon. If you let me know where to send it, I will make sure you get an invitation. If not, I wish you well and thank you for your … attention.”
Eleanor stood up and extended her hand. William rested his hat against his groin and slowly rose to his feet.
“Notes can be left with the Duke of Ashbourn’s secretary at this address.” He didn’t say whether he would be at the soiree as he handed her a card from his jacket pocket. But William was certain she knew he wanted to see her again without him uttering a word.
He held Eleanor’s hand for a few seconds before dusting her skin with a light and socially acceptable kiss.
“Good day, Mr Black.”
“Good day, Lady Eleanor.”
After waving her maid over to join her, Eleanor Whitfield walked out of the park and out of sight, leaving William St Clair with a powerful yearning to bed her that might never loosen its grip.
Yet thoughts of her disapproving stepmother and his need to have as few ties keeping him in England as possible gave William more pause and finally gave his breeches a bit more room to breathe.
As he walked home, William replayed Eleanor’s words in his mind again. “Being alone together is out of the question. It absolutely cannot happen again.”
So why was he already plotting how to kiss this woman again as soon as possible?
Chapter 8
Eleanor had never experienced so many nights of sweaty tossing and turning in her life. It got so bad that the housekeeper asked her if she was ill because of her damp sheets and pillowcases.
How could she explain that she was ravished every night in dreams by a dark-eyed pirate who kissed like a sailor who’d been too long at sea?
The day after their secret tryst in the park, Eleanor sent an invitation to Cousin Harrison’s soiree to Mr Black, care of the Duke of Ashbourn. She hoped he received it, but there was no reply.
In the meantime, Eleanor stayed busy with friends and tried not to think about Anthony during a visit to Lucy and her husband’s new home in town. She, Regina, and Margaret were in attendance, along with Lucy and her mother, Lady Charles.
“Young women these days don’t know how lucky they are! Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Whitfield? Our first home was much more conservative than this!” Lady Charles said as she waved her arm in the air to indicate how extravagant Lucy’s London home was compared to her memories.
And she was right. Lucy and her baron husband, Lord Charter, had a stunning home from its ornate crown moulding down to the lush furnishings resting on Persian rugs that must have cost a fortune. However, Eleanor knew from Lucy’s stories that the upgrades they made to their country estate were even grander than this.
“This should be a lesson to you, Eleanor. Your friend married well and now enjoys the fruits of her good choices,” Margaret added while staring with obvious displeasure at a statue of a naked goddess displayed by an elegantly draped window.
“Yes, Stepmother. You always know best.” Eleanor’s words were laced with sarcasm, but Lady Whitfield wasn’t paying attention. On the other side of Margaret, Eleanor watched with a devilish grin as Lucy tried to stop herself from laughing out loud and almost spat her mouthful of biscuit across the room.
When they returned home from Lucy’s, a box for Eleanor arrived from the St Coeur country home. The note attached was from Cousin Harrison, who said he’d just found the box buried in a storage room. It had Eleanor’s name written across the side in scribbles that looked like a young child’s handwriting.
“I’ll take care of this, Eleanor,” Margaret said, motioning for the footman to retrieve the box and take it to her private study. It was the room that used to be her father’s office when he was alive. “You wrote on the box as a child, but it’s not yours. I believe this is a collection of estate paperwork that has been missing since his death.”
