“I find that hard to believe.” An unladylike snort punctuated her statement.
He ignored her sarcasm. “If I can forgive you for such a sound rejection, surely you can do me the honor and forgive me for any—rude comments I might’ve made toward you?” He smiled though deep within, nerves jangled wildly. He was a fool. Why would he allow himself to be rejected again? Was he a glutton for such torment?
No. Because he was still half in love with her. Complete and utter madness, but he couldn’t deny it.
“I will consider your invitation.” Her gaze met his direct. “If you invite my mother and sisters as well.”
Her mother and her sisters? Well, he’d believed the mother would figure in. He couldn’t have an unaccompanied young lady gallivanting about his estate. She’d be forever ruined.
But her two sisters as well? They were younger, the both of them on the cusp of debuting, and to have his approval would no doubt increase their social stature.
Hmm. He should’ve thought of this sooner.
Standing, he bowed, contained the smile that wanted to escape as he watched her reluctantly draw herself from the settee. “I will have a formal invitation delivered posthaste so that you and your family may make your plans.”
“That will be fine.” She lifted her chin. “Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace.”
“Oh, it will be my pleasure, my lady,” he drawled. Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink, and the sight caused his mouth to curve into a wicked smile, sent a dart of dark pleasure through him.
It would be his pleasure indeed.
Chapter Four
“AN INVITATION. TO the Duke of Ashton’s country estate.” The Countess of Cochrane set the elegant ecru-colored invitation on the table with a thump. “This is thrilling news!”
Eleanor winced. She knew her mother would be beyond excited at receiving any sort of missive from the duke. She’d half hoped he would disappoint her yet again and forget to send the invitation altogether.
But she’d had no such luck. It appeared with the other missives late this morning, accompanied by a bundle of letters from creditors. She’d spotted the elegant envelope immediately, the Ashton seal seeming to mock her as she studied it.
The thought of spending days on end at the mercy of Ashton in his home during the holiday season sounded like absolute torture.
And absolute bliss.
“What does this mean?” Eleanor’s younger sister, Penelope, had such an expectant look on her face, Eleanor almost felt sorry for her. At the mere age of eighteen, the world was wide open, and she watched it all unfold with eager eyes.
“It means that a duke is giving you girls an endorsement!” their mother crowed. “I say, the Fitzsimmons sisters shall soon rule the ton!”
“Mother.” Eleanor rested her hand over the countess’s. She kept her voice calm, even. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea—”
“Nonsense,” her mother interrupted, jerking her hand from beneath Eleanor’s so she could wave it about, dismissing her eldest daughter’s protests with a flick of her fingers. “It’s a splendid idea. What else shall we do over the holiday? Freeze? Poor Hamilton is dreadfully ill because we can’t keep the house well heated.” She referred to their very old, very sickly butler. “All of London will be completely abandoned by the first of December. Many of them have already left. It’s silly to remain, especially when we have a most coveted invitation from a duke.”
“A duke who was once a mere second son, a man whose proposal I did not accept because Father told me not to.” Eleanor paused, letting her words sink in. Did her mother forget the circumstances? Or was she so blinded by the title, it didn’t matter who the man was. “I’m afraid the duke’s motives aren’t necessarily kind.”
Lady Cochrane’s eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline. “Whatever do you mean?”
Her mother could be so daft sometimes.
Sighing, Eleanor shook her head, her gaze cutting to her sisters across the table, who watched the entire conversation with rapt attention. “You don’t remember? Mr. Henry Stuart inherited the title when his older brother died. He is now the Duke of Ashton.”
The grin that broke out on her mother’s face could’ve brightened all of gloomy, rainy London. “Why, that’s marvelous! Fantastic, encouraging news. We can give him what he always wanted.” She paused, a titter escaping in the silence before she finally burst out with one damning word. “You.”
Dread plummeted into Eleanor’s already churning stomach. “He doesn’t want me,” she said weakly.
“I find that hard to believe. He’s pined for you since the rejection. So, so foolish of me,” she muttered. “How could I forget? We have much planning now, my dear. A tremendous amount of planning must occur. We need to make you presentable to the duke.”
“But what about us?” Penelope pouted, while her elder-by-two-years sister, Olivia, gave her a withering stare. As the baby of the family, Penelope believed all eyes and attention should always be on her. “If the duke is supposedly so enamored of Eleanor, which doesn’t make a bit of sense since she’s practically a spinster, then what are we supposed to do while at his estate?”
“Oh, I don’t know, perhaps endear yourself to the duke so you can receive an endorsement from him upon the next season?” Their mother shook her head. “Sometimes, you can be a rather disappointing creature, Penelope. One must look at a duke as an advantage to one’s station. It does not matter if he’s interested in you in a romantic manner or not. If he wishes to invite us into his household, we must be on our very best behavior.”
“But I want to be a duchess. It’s not fair that Ellie might be one.” Penelope scowled.
“Stop acting the spoiled brat for once, will you?” Olivia whispered underneath her breath.
“Both of you stop,” Eleanor said wearily. “I doubt the duke has designs on me. I truly believe it’s some sort of revenge plot. For all I know, he plans on offering for one of you just to get back at me for rejecting him so cruelly.” The thought of it, the mere idea of Henry’s marrying one of her sisters, sent her stomach pitching and roiling like the most turbulent sea.
“Oh. So there’s a chance, then.” Pure delight lit Penelope’s pretty blue gaze. She was the most attractive of the sisters, with golden brown hair and skin the color of alabaster, features as fine and delicate as a porcelain doll. Her devious mind and childish ways needed some improving, as did her rather selfish behavior.
She’d been indulged her entire life, even during the last few years of extreme hardship. Everyone did their best to protect Lady Penelope. Eleanor knew that Olivia held some resentment about it but otherwise remained quiet. She was the bookish sister, the one most didn’t notice. Such a terrible shame. Olivia was quite the intelligent conversationalist.
And Eleanor was the responsible one. The calm, unruffled, eldest sister who tried her best to keep the entire household together, even her parents.
Especially her parents.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Olivia muttered, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “He probably won’t notice you.”
Eleanor shot a chastising look toward Olivia. At twenty, she still hadn’t been given a proper season and was looking a bit long in the tooth for it as well, especially since Penelope’s debut was coming up soon.
They would have to share, their mother had declared but a fortnight ago. They could come out at the same time, during the same season. Not that their parents could afford to hold a ball in their honor. Nor could they provide them with new wardrobes, though both girls had each been lucky enough to gain a new gown.
“Let’s not turn this into a competition.” Eleanor smiled at her sisters. “If we really are going to the duke’s estate for the holiday, then let’s follow his lead. After all, we’ll be in his home, spending time with his family. It’s only proper to do as he wishes.”
“That’s a good idea, Ellie,” Olivia said, nodding once. “You’re always so practical.”
Eleanor ignored her mother’s tirade, focusing instead on the fact that in a fortnight’s time, they would be at Ashton’s estate. Isolated, in the middle of the countryside, with nowhere to go and no chance to escape. Would he continue his pursuit of her? Or was he drawing her and her family there to flaunt another woman in front of her and make her look stupid?
Or worse, would he flaunt his flirtation with one of her sisters before her? Olivia wouldn’t purposely do such a thing, she was a far more sensitive sort, but the duke was quite charming. On the other hand, Penelope would love rubbing in her eldest sister’s face that she snatched the duke and Eleanor didn’t.
It was a strange predicament, one she never believed she’d find herself in. Regret had kicked her swiftly for years, especially after he’d become the duke. She’d been younger and foolish, still starry-eyed in the midst of her debut year, believing plenty of possibilities lay before her. Worse, believing every lie her father told her.
Mister Henry Stuart had been quite kind, quite affable, and rather handsome. Dark and mysterious and charming and a tad roguish, all that intense masculinity had scared her. Thrilled her. Those few cherished stolen moments she’d experienced in his arms, his hands moving swiftly all over her body, his mouth pressed to hers . . .
A shuddering sigh escaped her, and she shook her head.
Despite her worry, she wanted to experience such moments with him again. Desperately.
Chapter Five
Two weeks later
ELEANOR RESORTED TO lying.
It was the only way to remove herself from the terror, the ferocious storm that was her mother and sisters. The constant bickering, the glib remarks from Penelope, the not-so-gentle chastising from their mother, she couldn’t take it any longer.
So she’d feigned a headache and begged off yet another boring afternoon of playing cards or writing letters with her family and other female guests in residence, including the duke’s lovely sister, Lady Serena, who was the same age as Penelope.
And far more tolerable though Eleanor was loath to admit it. She didn’t wish to think ill of her family, but . . .
Supposedly returning to the guest bedchamber for a nap, she’d slipped down an unknown corridor, deciding to do a bit of exploring. The Ashton country manor was unlike any she’d ever seen in her life. A cavernous mansion with endless wings and long hallways, all with a dizzying number of closed doors, she’d been dazzled from the first moment they arrived. Only a few short days ago, they’d come, the countess sure one of her daughters was going to walk away from this holiday party a future duchess.
Eleanor didn’t know how to break it to her mother that the duke didn’t appear the least bit interested. Not in her, not in her sisters, not in . . . anyone. Their hostess was the duchess, a rather forceful woman who led every bit of entertainment within the household with a stern hand and knowing stare. Why, she’d told Penelope last night after supper, “Do be quiet, won’t you? Must you always run your mouth?”
That had sent her sister into a sulk that was still evident this afternoon.
Sighing, Eleanor caught sight of an open door and increased her steps, eager to peek inside. She had no idea where the duke was. He’d made himself scarce, offering a pleasant, polite greeting to them upon their arrival but otherwise staying out of the thick of it. He spent most of his time participating in manly sports out in the drizzling, freezing rain with his younger brother, Lord Tristan.
And if the duke wasn’t with Lord Tristan, then Olivia was. Quite an interesting situation, that.
As she drew closer, she noticed that a light glowed from within, casting a beam of gold across the otherwise darkening corridor. Outside, the clouds were near black, bloated and hanging low, a storm imminent, full with the promise of snow. Already, a hard, stinging rain fell, the drops hitting the windows with precise, pinging force.
That shaft of light beckoned, promising a cozy warmth she was suddenly desperate to experience.
She stepped through the open doorway, all the air seeming to leave her in an exhilarated gust. The quiet hush of the room enveloped Eleanor as she stepped farther inside, as if she had entered something quite majestic. She looked around, awed by the subtle display of excess.
The walls were constructed of a rich, warm, wood paneling, and paintings featuring dour-faced ancestors who watched her with skeptical eyes as she passed by. The Oriental rug beneath her feet was plush and thick, the color a vibrant red with an intricate, woven pattern of gold and varying shades of green. A vast array of books lined the many built-in shelves, all meticulously lined up by size and color. A gently flickering fire burned within the fireplace, there was an impressive picture window that looked out upon the wintry gardens, and a grand mahogany desk was situated in the corner.
She went to the desk, her gaze drinking in the items placed neatly on top. Nothing out of place, not a speck of dust appeared, and she wondered how many servants it took to keep this mausoleum in such an utter state of perfection. The study was immaculate, all for a man who was rarely in attendance. She wondered how often the duke frequented his country estate.
Feeling brave, she rounded the desk and eyed the chair for a quick moment before she decided to settle in. She rested her hands on the edge of the desk, contemplating the view around her. Who could ever get much work done, what with the beautiful outdoors calling from beyond the sparkling-clean window? Staring at the fireplace, watching the fire crackle and spark within would certainly prove a distraction. But, of course, her mother always told her she was too much of a dreamer. All the books—so many of them would sorely tempt her to pick one up and indulge in a few hours of enjoyable reading.
It didn’t sound like such a bad thing, losing herself in a fictional world, where the characters were happy and at peace with their station in life.
Sighing, she traced the edge of the desk with her index finger. What would it be like, to have such a fortune? To have every fanciful whim met with but a mere request? The Duke of Ashton was one of the most powerful dukes in all of England. With such vast wealth, he could have everything his heart desired.
Except for a wife, she thought idly. He truly was all the talk amongst the gossips. Who would marry Henry—she’d heard that question asked more than once since he’d inherited the title. Everyone wanted to know. Every lady wanted a chance too.
She’d had her chance—and turned him down.
Frowning, she tapped her finger on the edge of a thick journal. It was too ridiculous to even try and comprehend. Despite his inviting her here, despite all the heated promise she’d detected from that personal invitation the afternoon he’d called at her house, he didn’t spend time with her now. When it mattered, when he should be flirting and wooing and convincing her that maybe they did belong together after all.
It was frightfully embarrassing, how little she might need convincing.
She picked up a silver letter opener and checked her reflection in the flat side of the heavy blade. No, she wasn’t a grotesque beast. But she tended to get flustered in the company of a man, and, well, perhaps he didn’t find her particularly interesting when she acted the fool.
Sighing, she set the letter opener back in its silver cup and rested her elbow on the desk. Propped her chin on her fist and stared at the open door. No one passed by, and it was blessedly, deliciously quiet. She’d craved silence, being around her sisters and mother day in and day out. Glancing toward the window, she watched in mute fascination as the first gentle snowflakes began to fall. White bits of fluff drifting through the air, dotting the barren ground, easing the sting of all that angry rain.
“Are you in hiding?”
Ele
anor glanced up to find Ashton standing in the doorway, as if her mind had conjured him, contemplating her with an amused glint in his eyes. Clad in buckskin breeches that clung to his muscular legs and shirtsleeves and a dark blue waistcoat that emphasized his broad shoulders and chest, he was, in a word, magnificent.
Her cheeks heated with embarrassment, she removed herself from the chair behind the desk. His observation was correct. His observations of her were almost always correct.
A rather unnerving trick of his.
“Perhaps,” she answered vaguely, trailing her fingers along the edge of the desk as she came around it. She sent a glance his way, noticed that his gaze was locked upon her wandering fingers, and she snatched her hand away, clutching the both of them in front of her.
“And if I may ask, what or whom are you hiding from?” He entered the room, stopping just before her. His arms went behind his back, and he stood there, legs slightly spread, expectant expression on his face.
Well, this was embarrassing. How awful would she look, running away from her family? “I didn’t answer properly as to if I was hiding in the first place, Your Grace.”
“I assume you are if you’re lurking about in here.” He nodded toward the chair behind the desk. “Did you find it comfortable?”
She glanced behind her. “Find what comfortable?”
“The chair.” She turned back to look at him in question. “You were sitting in my chair when I entered the room.”
“Yes, about that.” She clutched her fingers tight, uncomfortable with his observations. “I don’t know what possessed me. I’m assuming this is your study?” At her question, he nodded, and she continued on. “And I’m sure you’re appalled at how I’ve lurked about in your private sanctuary, sitting behind your desk as if I belong here.”
His gaze smoldered as he studied her. “I wouldn’t consider myself appalled at finding you all alone in my study,” he drawled, settling into one of the armchairs that faced the desk. “Though you might be appalled at the thoughts presently running through my mind at finding you.”
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