Page 92 of Tempting the Reclusive Duke
It was a dangerous dream, full of social impossibilities and practical complications. But as she drifted toward sleep, Eveline found herself smiling.
After all, she'd always been drawn to difficult translations. And what was love but the most complex text of all, requiring patience and skill and the courage to find meaning in what others might call impossible?
***
The next week passed in a blur of activity. She submitted the signed contract to Cadwell, who was delighted by her acceptance. The museum project began in earnest, with Thornbury providing two eager assistants for her to direct. And through it all, her relationship with Adrian deepened and intensified, the professional boundaries they'd once maintained now barely a memory.
They were discrete in front of others, maintaining appropriate distancewhen Morrison or the assistants were present. But in the moments between, when they were alone in the library or walking in the garden, the pretense dropped away entirely.
"You're glowing," Harriet observed when they met for tea that Friday. "Actually luminescent with happiness. It's rather nauseating for those of us living more mundane lives."
"Your life is hardly mundane. How is Lady Beatrice?"
"Magnificent. Yesterday she dictated a letter to the Prime Minister about women's education while simultaneously correcting my Latin grammar and planning a dinner gathering for radical intellectuals." Harriet leaned closer, lowering her voice. "But we're not discussing my employer. We're discussing why you look like you've been thoroughly and repeatedly kissed."
"Harriet!"
"Am I wrong?"
Eveline felt heat flood her cheeks. "Not... entirely wrong."
"I knew it!" Harriet crowed. "Oh, this is delicious. The proper Miss Whitcombe, engaged in passionate embraces with her employer. What would the scandal sheets say?"
"Nothing, because they're not going to find out." Eveline's tone turned serious. "We're being careful, Harriet. My work is too important to risk on gossip."
"Of course you are." Her friend's expression softened. "I'm jesting, but I am happy for you. Both of you. Though I do wonder how long you can maintain this balancing act."
It was a question Eveline had been avoiding, but it pressed at the edges of her consciousness as she returned to Everleigh Manor. How long could they continue like this—professional colleagues by day, lovers in all but the final sense by evening? Something would have to give eventually.
She found Adrian in an unusual position, standing on a library ladder, reaching for a volume on a high shelf. The sight of him in shirtsleeves, coat discarded and cravat loosened, made her mouth go dry.
"Need assistance?" she offered, trying not to stare at the way his shirt pulled across his shoulders.
He looked down, a wicked smile curving his lips. "Depends on the kind of assistance. I'm trying to reach Ptolemy, but I'd be happy to come down and discuss other needs."
"The book, Adrian. Focus on the book."
"Dampener of spirits." But he retrieved the volume, descending the ladder with easy grace. "How was tea with Harriet?"
"Illuminating. She seems to think I'm glowing with inappropriate happiness."
"Are you?" He set the book aside, moving closer. "Inappropriately happy?"
"Deliriously so," she admitted, letting him pull her into his arms.
"Good." He kissed her, slow and deep, until her knees went weak. "Though 'inappropriate' seems harsh. I prefer 'unconventionally.'"
"That's not a real word."
"It should be. We need new words for what we are, since the existing ones don't quite fit." His hands stroked down her back, making her shiver. "Colleagues? Too cold. Lovers? Too limited. Employer and employee? Laughably inadequate."
"What would you call us then?"
"Everything," he said simply. "You're everything to me, Eveline. Friend, equal, future wife..."
"Adrian."
"I know, I know. Monthly proposals only. I'll wait another two weeks." He kissed her again, effectively ending rational discourse.
