To Dodge a Duke (Entangled Nobility Book 2)

by Naomi Boom

  Acute, brutal awareness of her arms, wrapped around him in a wanton manner, hit her. The magic of the moment died, and she actually groaned. She, the epitome of a lady, groaned. “You are ridiculous.”

  He affected a hurt look and said, “You are supposed to be swept away by my romantic sentiments.”

  She laughed and scurried out from under him, despite her strong urge to pull him back to her and ignore his levity. She managed to get off the bed before she turned to him and said, “You tricked me into that and do not deserve rewards for such behavior.”

  “Fair enough,” he murmured as he joined her in standing. His eyes drifted over her, and her stomach clenched at the predatory look in his eyes. “You should wear nightgowns more often. You look enchanting in them.”

  “I wear them as often as I ought.” She smiled despite her retort. She should feel embarrassment that he had seen her in such an improper manner, but all it did was embolden her. Heat threatened to rise to her face as it occurred to her she could seduce him. Right now. The knowledge had always been there with most gentlemen, but with him it was an actual possibility, and she was oh so wicked to consider it.

  He bowed and placed a sizzling kiss on her hand. “I have determined you are in robust health. Good night, my lady. I wish you sweet dreams.” With that, he departed, leaving Eleanor energized and far from tired. The audacity of the man was too much.

  Yes, he should not have come to her, and now she would have no choice but to dwell on him until she succumbed to sleep, which would prove elusive. How could she sleep when a large chunk of her heart had been ripped from her chest and given to him?

  Chapter 8

  Having slept soundly once she fell asleep, Eleanor woke rested and ready to face the day. She ate her breakfast in bed, and then she and Olivia returned outside. The overcast sky did not hold as much promise as the previous day, but Eleanor would forget the weather once she started painting. She always did.

  She worked for a short while but was interrupted when Lady Gammon stepped in front of her. Lady Gammon appeared tired again but still quite lovely with her pregnancy glow. “Good morning, Lady Gammon. I trust you slept well?” She smiled at the countess and indicated an open spot next to her on the bench.

  “Tolerably,” Lady Gammon said as she came to stand next to Eleanor, declining to take a seat. “Your painting is lovely. You have a gift.”

  Eleanor blushed at the compliment and took a moment to observe her work. An iron trellis was the focal point, with lush, green vines intertwining up and over the structure. She had decided against the use of tulips; rather, she used the half-opened buds of azaleas. She could not complain about her work. Not only had she captured its beauty, but she had enhanced it to the point one might expect a fairy to come prancing out.

  Eleanor rose from her chair and stretched, enjoying the change of standing after a long period of sitting. “Thank you. My work should not blind someone from its ugliness.” She gestured to a path which meandered alongside a nearby pond. “Would you care to join me for a stroll?”

  “I had planned to watch you paint, but if you would prefer to walk, I can adjust.”

  Eleanor turned to Olivia and directed her to cover her paints. They strolled toward the shoreline. The water appeared like smooth glass in its stillness, unblemished by any wind or external factor. Yet another vista Eleanor could paint.

  They walked through the picturesque landscape, and Eleanor was startled by Lady Gammon’s question. “Are you and your cousin no longer on speaking terms?”

  Eleanor’s thoughts raced as she pieced together the clues. Most ladies felt threatened by her and did not befriend her without ulterior motives. Now the countess fished for information on a juicy topic which any gossip would enjoy hearing. It all made perfect sense.

  Eleanor tensed and schooled her features. A little white lie was preferable to malicious gossip. “We correspond regularly. Why do you ask?”

  Lady Gammon shrugged. “I always remembered seeing you two together. Is she enjoying marriage then?”

  Eleanor closed her eyes and yearned for a breeze to cool her face. She had already spoken to Lady Gammon of love and Logan’s potential feelings. That much would become fodder, but she could mitigate the rest. “Of course. Laura has never been happier.”

  “That is excellent news.” The countess slowed their walk to pick up a stone to skip across the smooth surface of the lake. “Three times,” she muttered. “Reuben will not be impressed.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Eleanor asked, although the last thing she wished was polite conversation now that she had uncovered Lady Gammon’s motives.

  “Oh, it is just something my husband and I do when we are by bodies of water.” She stepped away from the bank and placed a hand to her belly. “They say I should feel my little one move soon.”

  Not having been around a pregnant woman before, Eleanor was shocked by the statement. “You mean you will feel the baby move inside of you?”

  Lady Gammon laughed and lowered herself to the lawn. “Of course, once the baby is big enough. Now I am afraid I must take a break. I am not supposed to push myself after my miscarriages.”

  Eleanor ignored the potential for grass stains and joined Lady Gammon on the ground. A flash of pain passed through Lady Gammon’s eyes, and Eleanor asked, “How long have you tried to have a baby?”

  “Several years now.” Her look was bittersweet as she said, “I have suffered two miscarriages, but each one has drawn Reuben and me closer. I know this pregnancy will be successful, though. I feel it.”

  Eleanor propped herself up on one gloved hand and turned to regard Lady Gammon. Would a lady in search of gossip share such intimate details? She doubted it. Only a lackwit would confide in a person and then turn around to gossip about her.

  “You truly wish to be friends?” Something caught in her throat, and she turned away.

  Lady Gammon’s nose crinkled, and her lips turned up in a wry grin. “Of course, dear. Whether you marry the duke or the baronet, we will see each other frequently.”

  No one ever wished to be friends with her. Most ladies were too intimidated by her fortunate looks and avoided her. Those that did not avoid her openly shunned her. Except for Laura. Laura had stood by her, until now.

  A mischievous note entered Lady Gammon’s voice as she said, “You know if you marry Logan, you will be the baby’s godmother.”

  Eleanor straightened as panic set in. Logan and she would not wed, although the thought of leaving him left her quite empty inside. “I am afraid that will not happen. He is still of an unacceptable class.”

  Lady Gammon rose and shook her head. “How unfortunate you believe that. Shall we return then?”

  Eleanor agreed, and they ambled back to the behemoth of a house via the pebbled path they had taken on the way down. The thought that the countess had confided such a personal secret whilst she lied about her own weighed heavily on her, so she said, “Lady Gammon, I am afraid I misspoke earlier. Laura and I are not on speaking terms. In fact, I have no idea how she is as she refuses to respond to my letters.”

  “I thought as much. I heard rumors of you casting some aspersion against her. Naturally I do not always believe the rumor mill, but this time it appears true.”

  “Yes, well, I apologize for it every time I write to her. She does not forgive me, not that I blame her,” Eleanor said as a stray blonde hair fell across her face. She pushed it behind her ear and kicked her boot against a stone.

  “Sometimes a letter does not suffice. I would bet your apology would be much more effective in person.”

  “Yes, well, I will try that strategy and hope her husband has not banned me from their household.” She doubted her cousin would allow that to happen, but she had also expected Laura to respond by now, so she could be wrong.

  Lady Gammon chuckled. “No man should be foolish enough as to come between two ladies like that.” They arrived back at their starting point, and Lady Gammon patted Eleanor’s hand. Sh
e turned to enter the house but looked over her shoulder to say, “I am sure things will work out. Matters such as these always do.”

  The countess walked up the path, and her hips swayed with each step. Her trim figure still did not show any sign of the child within. A spark of jealousy bloomed within Eleanor as she thought of how happy Lady Gammon was. Not only did she have a title and wealth, but she was in love and now expecting her first child. Eleanor had not even realized these were goals she wished to attain, but seeing someone so blissful had decided things for her. She wanted it all.

  She resumed her work and added the finishing touches to the artwork she would allow the world to see. Later on, she would add some personal details that would remain forever locked away in secret. As she began to gather her things, a shiver ran down her spine.

  “May I help you, Sir Logan?” How had she allowed him to sneak up on her without realizing it?

  “Your work is that of a master,” he said, still looking over her shoulder at her painting.

  “Thank you.” She softened at his comment and said, “If you seek Lady Gammon, she just returned to the house.”

  “I know.” He smiled down at her, and his eyes betrayed his appreciation for the view of her bosom. “I ran into her as I came out.”

  Eleanor stood and narrowly missed bumping heads with him in her rush. His look made her pulse accelerate and her insides turn to mush. If only she could kiss him, but seeing as she tried to keep her reputation intact, she had best refrain from such scandalous behavior.

  “I would say we are getting much better at avoiding disaster,” he said as he held out his arm.

  After rattling off a few instructions to Olivia, Eleanor accepted his arm. “Are you escorting me anywhere special?”

  He sent her a heartwarming smile and led her to the manor. “Of course. We must finish our tour of the house.”

  “Ah,” she muttered while attempting to focus on anything else around her but him. All she could think to ask was, “How is His Grace today?”

  Logan’s face darkened, and his mouth slanted to a grim line. “He is about the same.” Silence prevailed until they neared the manor. “Now then, is there any room in particular you care to see?”

  She raised an eyebrow. He had ruined her perusal of the picture gallery the previous day, and she wished to see what he hid from her. “The picture gallery should suffice, and this time you can allow me access to all the portraits.”

  He smirked. “Or do you hope I will kiss you as I did last time?”

  “Of course not!” Eleanor said as her cheeks heated. While she did indeed long for his kisses, he did not need to know. Logan led her through a set of heavy wooden doors, down a hall, and into the familiar room. Eleanor wasted no time dallying, instead she directed her attention to the newest portraits.

  Dismay swept over her when she found no new portraits had been hung, although she swore there was a slight fading of the wallpaper around a rectangular area. She quirked her eyebrow and asked Logan, “Where is the missing portrait?”

  Logan shrugged. “You will have to ask His Grace.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured as she turned back to him. His eyes held a mischievous glimmer, and in that moment, she decided she no longer cared to see a painting of His Grace. Not when Logan stood near her, holding her heart with his own special blend of intrigue. “You may continue our tour now.”

  The couple walked in companionable silence, meandering through several rooms that should have received mention on their tour but were neglected. As they exited an ornate, gilded chapel, Logan finally broke the silence. “I spoke the truth earlier when I said your painting is lovely. Given the chance, I would frame it and display it in my house.”

  Eleanor laughed while her heart thumped to hear his praise. She did not share her art with people, just as she did not share her inner thoughts. With him, she wished to change that. An uncharacteristic feeling of shyness arose, but she thrust it aside. “Thank you, but you haven’t seen the finished product yet.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Well,” she said, stopping their stroll to muster her courage. “I always do this in secret, but I add mythical creatures to my art.” She stopped breathing as she waited for his answer. No one knew her secret, and he very well could laugh at her and shatter her.

  He paused to consider her admission before chuckling. “You are drawn to your kind, I see, although I cannot picture a water nymph in the gardens.”

  She swatted him as a weight fell from her. He had not laughed at her. “Don’t be absurd. I would never paint a water nymph unless it was a scene with water.”

  His expression softened, and he murmured, “How very appropriate of you.” He paused to consider her, his expression intently serious. “I do believe when we marry, I will commission a painting of you in all your watery glory.”

  Disconcerted by his serious façade, Eleanor proceeded to walk once more. He kept pace with her and asked, “Why the secrecy in your artwork, though?” Before she could respond, he tensed and said, “Oh right, you cannot allow gentlemen to think you have a thought of your own.”

  “That is not true. I always display my wit, just not my eccentricities.”

  “Forgive the misunderstanding, my lady.”

  Eleanor placed her hand on his arm as they resumed their farce of a tour. She eyed the place where her fingers grazed his suede jacket. Drawing her gaze up his arm and to his profile, she stared in wonderment at this unusual creature before her. How was it he could convince her to question every belief she held? How could such a man as he accept her for her foolish eccentricities, when she herself could not?

  He tilted his head and smiled at her, waiting for her to say or do something. She scowled and asked, “What?”

  He chuckled, and she blushed. Her tone had been rather gruff. “Every time we touch, you emit a small gasp.” A hurried denial rose to her lips, but he spoke before she could say anything. “Just admit it. You find me attractive.”

  Her blush intensified at his bold statement. “I do not. Your accusation is most untrue.”

  “It is all right, my lady. I cannot keep my eyes off you either.”

  A sense of pride filled her. Of course she realized she was beautiful, but his attentions meant so much more to her. They crossed over the threshold to an exquisite ballroom. All the cornices were a dark bronze color with equally dark marble on the floor. The walls were white, and the ceiling…That was the true masterpiece. The ceiling held images of white, billowy clouds against a backdrop of aqua skies.

  She stared at the splendor before her. This ballroom was by far the most luxurious one she had stepped foot in. A ballroom such as this justified why she did not waste herself on such a man as Logan. With him, she lost sight of her goals. Logan could never provide for her as a duke could, yet why did it hurt so much to think of cutting him from her life?

  Tearing her gaze from the ceiling, she turned to Logan and said, “I fear you are mistaken, Sir Logan. I find many things to be more attractive than you.”

  “Sir Logan?” His voice lowered to a rough growl, and he turned her to face him. “I thought—” His voice trailed off, and he stopped all movement, just stood there staring intently into her eyes. When he spoke once more, his voice was firmer, more assured. “You must have remembered you are too good for me. Your mind and your body are at odds, my dear. You find me just as attractive as I find you.”

  His words stopped her cold. His description matched her quandary to perfection, but for one exception. Her mind fought him but, instead of firm resolve, teetered on a precarious ledge. She knew he would catch her, but could she allow herself to be caught?

  She closed her eyes and whispered, “Yes. I am attracted to you. You are by far the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on, and I want nothing more than to kiss you all the time.”

  Eleanor turned away from him, keeping her eyes closed against the pain in her heart as she said, “But so what? All that will happen from this mu
tual attraction is we kiss some more and avoid breaking a few more vases.”

  Logan draped his arms around her and nestled the back of her head in the crook of his neck. His warmth surrounded her in this cold, empty room, and his masculine scent filled her with longing for him. “You know full well where our attraction can lead. I want to marry you, not just play with you and discard you at my convenience.”

  Eleanor sighed, allowing herself to nestle into his warmth. “I know, and you have no idea how appealing that sounds, but we both know it cannot happen.”

  He breathed in a ragged breath and kissed the top of her head. “Stubborn woman. There is nothing holding you back but yourself.” They stood together for several minutes, content to remain close. Her mind worked furiously all the while. No matter how hard she tried, she could not quite reach the answer he sought. Even if she did agree to marry him, her parents would never approve. Nothing could come of their relationship but heartbreak.

  Ever so slowly, he pulled away from her and said, “Well, that concludes our tour for the day. Is there anywhere else you wish to go?”

  Eleanor turned to gape up at him. “You consider that a tour?”

  He cocked his head and asked, “Shouldn’t I?”

  “I suppose it can count, but typical tours include a description of at least one room.”

  “Hmm. Right then.” He led her from the ballroom down the familiar hallway and stopped before a set of doors. He opened it with a grand sweep of his arm. “This is the linen closet.”

  Eleanor could not help a wry smile from forming as she turned to him. “Thank you for the tour, I can see you planned that very well, especially ending on such an important room.”

  He grinned and said in mock affront, “Linen is not something to be taken lightly, you know.” He led her back to the main part of the manor as it occurred to Eleanor that she had been too engrossed with the man beside her to focus on the tour. She could not remember any of the rooms, aside from the portrait gallery, ballroom, and linen closet.

  He had spoken such sweet words to her and once again guaranteed her she could find happiness with him, but what did his guarantee matter? She could not wed him.