Page 44 of Oddity of the Ton
“Eleanor, your father doesn’t want you to be party to the conversation,” Lady Howard said.
Miss Howard colored. “I know, Mother—I merely fancied taking in the air. That is, if you’ll excuse me, Your Grace.”
Monty took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Until tomorrow, Miss Howard,” he said. “Shall I call at noon?”
“Yes, do,” Lady Howard said, before her daughter could respond. Ignoring her, Monty waited until Miss Howard lifted her gaze. They stared at each other for a heartbeat, then she lowered her eyes.
What might those eyes look like widened in surprise and pleasure in the throes of her climax while she screamed his name?
His body tightened at the notion, and she curled her fingers around his hand, sending a ripple of desire across his skin.
What the devil was happening to him? Had his promise not to rut another woman for the rest of the Season addled his mind? Celibacy was not a state that came naturally to him. Since his first awakening to carnal pleasure at the hands of a doxy, he’d taken his fill night after night, until he became a master of the pleasures of the flesh—both his pleasure, and that of the women he bedded. Why, then, had he promised to abstain?
To prove yourself worthy of her.
He bade his leave of Lady Howard and her daughter, then followed Sir Leonard into his study. Now the real ordeal of the day was about to begin. Monty had to convince a respectable, honorable, and, by all accounts, sharp-as-a-whip businessman that he was worthy of the man’s daughter—something which he knew, as an undisputed certainty, that he could never be.
Chapter Fifteen
“Eleanor, come quick,he’s here!”
Mother’s voice echoed from downstairs, and Eleanor dropped her hairbrush.
Her maid picked it up. “Here, let me, Miss Eleanor,” she said brightly. “You’re all fingers and thumbs today!”
“Thank you, Harriet. I can’t think what’s come over me.”
“Ican, miss,” the maid said as she brushed Eleanor’s hair and secured it in a chignon. “There! You look quite lovely.”
“I don’t—”
“That’s enough ofthat,” Harriet said, placing a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. “You’re always thinking bad of yourself—but the duke must have a reason for offering for you.”
Yes—to deceive his mother.
“Whereareyou?” the voice cried again. “Tiresome child!”
“Coming, Mother!” Eleanor called out.
She exited her bedchamber and almost collided with her mother in the hallway.
“What isthatyou’re wearing, child?”
Eleanor glanced at her dress—a gown of white muslin with a simple blue sash. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Her mother let out a sharp sigh. “I told Harriet to set out the pink dress—it’s much more feminine thanthatdreadful thing.”
“I like this dress,” Eleanor said. “It’s more comfortable in this heat, and—”
“Don’t answer back! Lord save me, child, why must you always disappoint your poor mother? You want to look pretty for the duke, don’t you?”
Before Eleanor could say that the last thing she wanted was to look pretty for anybody, there came a knock on the front door. Her mother took her wrist, ushered her into the morning room, and sat her down just as a footman appeared with Whitcombe.
Eleanor’s heart fluttered, as it always did when she caught sight of him. Part of her had hoped he’d not turn up—but another part had yearned to see him again.
“Your Grace!” Mother cried. “How kind of you to—”
“Lady Howard.” He inclined his head, a curl of amusement on his lips. “And Miss Howard.”
