Chapter 34
Daniel entered the breakfast room the next morning with equal parts excitement and trepidation unsettling his stomach. Would Eliza allow a repeat of the dizzying kisses she had granted him the night before? Or would she refuse to even look at him today?
As they shared a quiet meal, Daniel watched her carefully, trying to judge how she felt. Eliza kept her expression even, but she seemed to avoid his gaze, and gave distracted, short answers to his attempts at conversation. Two spots of red burned on her cheeks, contrasting with the pinched pallor of the rest of her face.
It appeared their relationship was one step forward, two steps back.
Fighting disappointment, Daniel retreated to the stables and stayed away the rest of the day.
She was sullen at dinner, shooting him frowning glances he might interpret as equally disappointed.
She bewildered him.
She ate lightly and appeared to almost fidget with the tableware. After the last course was consumed, she stood abruptly to conclude the meal.
He rose. She shot him a peevish look and retreated to the drawing room. He clenched and unclenched his hands, and walked after her with measured steps.
She was playing a thunderous piece when he reached the room, her eyebrows drawn down.
He sat gingerly in his customary seat to watch her performance.
Her expression grew darker and darker, and his stomach and hands clenched tighter and tighter, until she smashed down her hands in a dissonant chord that resounded through the room without resolution, slammed the cover down over the keys, and stood.
He scrambled to his feet.
“What are you doing? Are you just going to sit there all evening?” Her eyes spat fire at him. Her hands were balled at her sides, her shoulders high and stiff.
“Eh?” His mouth was open, his chest tight. She was a dangerous, angry beauty, and he had no idea what to do to calm her.
Her mouth curled in a snarl. “What— When—” She blew out an enraged breath. “Were you planning on approaching me again today?
“I did not want to suppose, or impose . . .” He shifted on his feet. “Or assume?” he finished lamely.
Her fine nostrils flared. “Well, your current inaction means there will be no forward progress.”
He lifted his brows. “Are you saying you would like forward progress in our relationship?”
“I would like . . .” Her gaze turned away from his, her mouth working, her lips pressing together and unpressing. “To further explore the progress we have made.”
Hope rose in his heart. “That would . . .” His tongue stumbled in his mouth. “I would be so happy to further explore the progress we’ve made.”
She clasped and unclasped her hands, twisted her fingers, her brows raised. The raging woman was gone. She now looked vulnerable and delicate.
He approached her with caution, as he would a skittish yearling. The evening shadows lengthened over them through the windows.
He took her wringing hands into his to calm their twisting. He rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her hands. Her eyes refused to meet his.
“What exploration would you like?” He kept his voice low. “Could I kiss your forehead again?”
She frowned but jerked her head in assent.
He bent, pressed a kiss on her high brow. She let out a breath, and he felt her body settle down.
He pulled back a fraction. “Your cheeks?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible.
He lifted a hand and laid it on her neck and jaw. She stilled.
He pressed a kiss to her soft cheek, then stayed close enough to feel each breath she took. He felt her body relax as he lingered there.
Relieved joy filled his chest. He smiled and his stomach calmed. “Now, what should I do next? Kiss your jaw?” He didn’t move, awaiting her answer. “Your temple?”
“Yes, yes.” She gave a hiss of impatience.
He grinned, and moved slowly to each area, his thumbs stroking over her jawline, cupping the back of her head. He was giddy with the joy of it. “What else would you like me to do, Eliza?”
“Why will you not kiss me?”
“I will happily.” He gave her another peck on the cheek.
There was an infuriated light in her eyes. He knew mischief lit his.
“Not there?” He raised his brows, half-smiling.
“Kiss me as a man kisses a woman that he loves,” she stated boldly. “Not as he would kiss his sister.” Her eyes widened as she seemed to realize what she had said. She gulped. She continued more softly, her eyes entreating. “Kiss me as you did last night.”
Tender love for this woman filled him. “Ah, that type of kiss. You would welcome it again?”
“Yes, now, please.”
He lingered, holding onto the thrill of this moment, and the fun of her impatience.
He grew serious. “May I show you my love through a kiss, Eliza?”
She nodded. He could feel her body tense.
He pressed the pads of his fingers with infinite care on her jaw. He looked into her eyes and did not look away.
“I love you, Eliza.”
Her eyes widened.
He lowered his head, angled it, and pressed his lips to hers.
She sucked in a breath through her nose, her lips parted, and he kissed her more deeply. His heart pounded. When he pulled away, she made a sound in the back of her throat. Was it a sound of disappointment.? Did she want him to stop?
His hands skimmed down her neck as he pressed his mouth lightly to hers again, then began to back away. She made another noise of discontent, threw her arms around him, and kissed him with fervor.
He answered her intensity, wrapped his arms around her, returned her flaring passion with all he could give.
Elation filled him. She was kissing him! She responded to him with all the ardor a man could ask for. His mind became only a single, wordless exultation.
They broke for breath. He moved his mouth to her cheek, her soft neck, the space behind her jaw. He breathed her in, his chest heaving.
She gasped, pulled away, and pressed her mouth to his again.
He didn’t know how long they stood there, their bodies close together.
She broke away from him, pressed her hands to his chest, and backed away. He panted. Her cheeks were scarlet and her breathing as rapid as his.
She looked at him with huge eyes, puffed out a breath of air, turned, and fled.
He stood there, his heart pounding, amazed at what had just transpired.
* * *
The next day Eliza found herself on the settee again, this time on Daniel’s lap, their mouths moving together in head-rushing giddiness. She thrilled to the pressure of his lips.
“We should talk,” he interrupted.
She shook her head. “No need.” Talk would muddle the exquisite, mind-numbing bliss of what they were doing right then. A strange fire was kindled within her.
“Eliza.” His voice was pained. “We must stop, or I will not be able to.”
“Oh.” A spike of alarm went through her. She pulled back. Stood abruptly. Paced away from him.
He was panting, sitting forward on the settee, his eyes wide with desire.
“Oh.” She gulped rapid breaths against a pounding heart. She walked rapidly outside without her bonnet or gloves, and took a long walk around the grounds.
Chapter 35
Daniel’s days became heady. During the next week, his wife welcomed more and more of his touch, and they spent most of their time together. He drew her from all angles as she practiced her music, they drove about the grand countryside in the carriage, and read to each other in the evening. They shared intoxicating kisses, a joy of indulgence and restraint.
Daniel once again held Eliza on the settee in the drawing room. He broke their kiss and nuzzled into her neck, breathing heavily. He needed to slow down again. “May I just hold you?” His voice was husky.
“I su
ppose,” she said, reluctance in her tone.
He grimaced, shifted. Pulled away. She would be the death of him. He needed to distract himself. “Perhaps we should just talk? I can tell you of my favorite warhorse, Achilles.”
She frowned, drew away from him, straightened her skirts, smoothed her hair. Her breath was still rapid when she asked, “Was he a great warhorse?”
“The best. He had a hard mouth on him and would fight my control. He was ferocious in battle. But he loved to be brushed down.” Daniel’s heart was calming, his breathing returning to its normal rhythm. “A little sugar and a curry brush, and he’d settle and make friends with whoever was grooming him. Became as affectionate as a kitten as long as you kept the brush moving.”
He blew out a breath, now regretting bringing up the topic. “I loved that horse.”
She must have heard the sadness in his tone. “What happened to him?”
“Shot in a skirmish with the French in Spain. He went down screaming. One of the worst sounds I’ve ever heard.”
She blanched, put her hand over her heart.
“I was able to roll off him before he crushed me.” He let out a sigh and pushed back the memory. “He was the best of horses.”
“That’s horrible.” Her lips turned down and her eyes widened.
“It is.” He scrubbed at his face with a hand, sprung up, and paced the room, sudden disquiet running through him. “I don’t like war. I don’t like being a soldier.” He gauged her reaction. He didn’t share this with many.
She gazed back with a serious expression.
“War is . . .” He stopped in the middle of the room, faced her. “It’s just men trying to kill each other. And whoever kills the most, they call that a victory.” He shook his head. “So many think there is glory in it. They seek it out. But they’re fools. Boney, that self-aggrandizing villain, has been leading the French to war, calling it empire-building. Men who otherwise might have met each other as friends, instead kill each other.”
He turned to the window, scenes of blood and violence flashing before him. “When armies are in battle, it’s all loud confusion. And afterward, it’s misery. The horses dying, men groaning around me . . . My men—my good men—lingering in agony for days. Even the unwounded get sick. Often there was not enough food or supplies to strengthen them. Oh, I hate that. If I can somehow never face the aftermath of a battlefield ever again, I . . .”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Eliza shudder.
He cut short, chagrin filling him. “I’m sorry, I should not be telling you of such things. Forgive me.”
She shook her head, grimaced. “It is good to hear of truth, though I perhaps do not want to dwell on it.”
He sat down, drew her close. “Then let’s not dwell on it.”
“But you hate being in the army.” Her expression was concerned.
He grimaced. “Not all. I fought for a just cause. There is justice in defense, in keeping your nation safe from tyrants. Those are worthy causes. Righteous reasons for war. That is what I fought for.” He smiled and felt himself soften. “I fought for you.”
He fought to defend the innocent and to punish the guilty. It was his reason for seeking the duel with Crewkerne.
Her eyes searched his face, a crease of worry between her brows.
He caressed her cheek, thrilling in the freedom to do so. “I tried to keep your face in my mind in the darkest days.”
She frowned. “Was there any other profession you could have gone into? One you disliked less?”
He smiled. “I dreamed of being a groom when I was small. Just working with horses all day, every day. But no, I was always for the military. Second son. And if I was to be in the military, it was the cavalry for me.”
She drew back, searched his eyes. He kept his expression carefully gentle. She frowned, but curled back into him, her head resting under his chin. He closed his eyes in contentment.
“You will stay in the army for me.” Her voice was small, unhappy.
“Yes, and it will be alright,” he reassured her. “Boney is defeated for the last time, we can hope.” The brief, heady glimpse he’d had of having funds enough to leave the army was nothing compared to having Eliza in his arms. She was worth giving up a fortune. She was worth facing a battlefield again.
Especially now, as she accepted him cradling her in his arms, as she welcomed his kisses, and as, even more thrillingly and dangerously, she sought them out from him.
“Until another threat arises.” There was bitterness in her tone.
He looked at Eliza. Her brown eyes were full of worry and a hint of anger.
“If I am called to fight again, I will do it. And pray for God’s protections upon me. Especially now that I have you to come home to.” There was one more battlefield he would fight on, the battlefield of honor. Crewkerne needed to feel God’s justice by facing the barrel of Daniel’s pistol from twenty paces.
But right now, he and Eliza needed to move to lighter topics. He gave her a squeeze, and his gaze went to her downturned mouth. He was willing to kiss those worries away.
He moved toward her, but she pulled back, shook her head.
“Why did you fall in love with me?” Her eyes were worried, her brows angled downward. “It does not seem in your best interest.” Her voice was small, a note in it that seemed to say she needed reassurance.
He quirked a smile. “You’re my beautiful duchess.”
She frowned at him, straightened, moved her body even further from his. “You’ve said that, but being lorded over by an imperious female is not what most men claim to want.”
He cut back a laugh. “No, we don’t.” He gave it a moment of thought. What had made school-girl Eliza stand out to his young heart? It was not just her obvious beauty. “It was the contrast, I suppose.”
“Contrast?”
“You, with the other females of my acquaintance and of my family. I looked at your calm serenity, your peaceful confidence, and knew that you would never throw a raging fit like my sister, Cassie.” He grinned. “Now she’s an imperious female. Especially when we were growing up. Her rows would disrupt the whole house.”
Eliza’s eyes widened. “She had temper tantrums?”
“Oh, horrible ones.”
“I suppose I can imagine that.” The corners of her lips lifted, her eyes narrowed with amusement. “I know there were young ladies she did not get on well with in Leicestershire, but they were several years older than I, so I wasn’t involved with those rivalries.”
Daniel smiled, encouraged. “Even now, she can get into head-to-head battles with Frederick. It’s a terror when they fight. She gets louder and louder and redder in the face, and he gets quieter and quieter and more still, till you think he’ll snap. They go long months holding each other in utter contempt. It’s gotten better since he acquiesced to her taking over the Kentworth stables. She’s calmer with an outlet for her focus.”
“So you liked how dissimilar I am from Lady Cassandra?” She raised a brow.
“I knew you would be much more rational when exerting your will.” He smiled. “But it’s not only that.” He pulled her hand to him, kissed her knuckles. “You were a gracious lady to small children and to large, bumbling oafs.”
A question furrowed her brow.
“Me.” His lip pulled up in a smile. “I was the awkward, bumbling oaf. You remember the Children’s Balls your grandparents put on every summer at Lyon Manor. All those very young ladies giggling? The boys nervous and embarrassed, despite hours of training in dancing? I was one of the older ones there, but I was quite uncoordinated for most of my youth. I trod on the feet of several of your contemporaries, enough that they scowled and refused to dance with me ever again. I was utterly miserable with humiliation.
“But you were the gracious hostess, even then. When you danced with me, you helped me find the step again when I lost it. I may have torn your flounce—I’m sure I heard a ripping noise—but you remained patient.”
> She frowned. “I remember you at the Children’s Balls, but I don’t remember details of our dances.”
“It’s probably best that you don’t.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh, covering the twinge of hurt that she had barely noticed him then. “The impression I would have made was not the best.”
Her brows creased.
“I hope . . .” He looked away. “That the impression I’ve made now is a better one.” He winced internally, cursed himself for being a needy fool fishing for compliments.
“The impression you’ve made is now . . .” She squeezed his hand, and his eyes were drawn back to hers. She gave him a small, sincere smile. “The very best of impressions.”
His heart warmed. They shared a long moment of companionship, sitting beside each other in the light and shadow of early afternoon, the sun shining warmly through the south-facing windows.
His thoughts went to a place he had been trying to keep them from, to a topic he’d been holding back from asking Eliza about. He hesitated to bring up this subject, not wanting to cut up her fragile peace.
But he did need to ask her, he needed to know, and this was the most in charity with him she had been since their wedding. He should not put it off any further.
A flare of nerves struck him, as bad as any pre-battle jitters. Would she withdraw from him again? His heart chilled at the thought.
“Eliza,” he forced himself to say, “I know you must not want to speak of this, and I hate to cause you pain, but . . .” He steeled himself for her reaction and asked the question he had been holding back. “Would you tell me what truly happened with Crewkerne?”
She stiffened beside him, her face becoming as blank as a mask, her jaw tight.
“I’ve heard what everyone else has said of your experience, but most are blatant lies and fabrications. I would like to hear what happened from you, if you are willing? The real truth, ungarbled by lies.”
When he faced Crewkerne, he wanted to go armed with the truth of what had happened between him and Eliza, with a knowledge of all the man’s misdeeds against her.
Beneath Spring's Rain (Ashton Brides Book 1) Page 21