As he touched her, he began a rhythmic motion of his hips, sliding in and out of her, making the tension build inside. Her whole body felt alive and tingly, and she held onto his arms, touched his chest, his hips where he was joined to her.
He kept up the movement of his fingers, and she groaned, flinging her head back as she felt that summiting peak feeling all over again, only this time it was even more intense.
As she hit that peak, he began to move faster and faster, and she could hear the thwack of their bodies hitting, another sensation adding to the entire erotic feeling.
He was pistoning in and out, and she had hold of his arms, she could see the lock of hair flying up and back down onto his forehead at his movement, could hear his breathing as he labored.
And then—“Aah,” he said as he grabbed hold of himself and withdrew, his body shaking. She felt something warm and wet on her thigh, and then he collapsed onto her, his member still throbbing, but not as hard now.
She curled her fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck and kissed his head. A lovely languor stole over her, and she thought she would be just fine if she died of this feeling. This was what it was like to be alive, to feel things, to have an adventure that was not only overwhelming but exhilarating, marvelous, and spectacular.
Only she couldn’t say anything at the moment, not with the rush of emotion flooding her brain. Not to mention his body on hers meant breathing was a bit more difficult.
She should be feeling guilty. At everything—at having let go of the one thing that defined her as a duke’s daughter, at allowing this all to happen without the promise of something more. She should be. But instead she was overwhelmed.
She was happy.
And she was in love.
“Thank you,” he said at last, his words muffled by his skin.
“Thank you,” she replied, smiling.
This was far, far better than anything she’d put on her list.
You are far more than what you think.
Alex paced in his room, far too keyed up to contemplate sleep, no matter that it was closing in on four o’clock. Images of her face, laughing up at him, her eyes wide in delight when she won at the gambling den, how her expression had grown determined and serious when she had spoken to him about who she was—and who he was—running through his mind. How she had looked when she was undressing him. When she was lying underneath him on that table.
When she came as he was inside her.
Was he more than what he thought?
He knew he couldn’t be much less, especially now that the memory of lying to his brother kept returning to him. What would happen if he were able to do something that meant anything? More than bringing pleasure to a woman, or being the decorative younger brother whose casual nonchalance was part of his charm?
What would it look like if he could be more? What would it look like if he could feel more? Feel as much as she did?
He couldn’t deny that more also included having her in his life—permanently. He wanted to steal her away from Bennett, not that she was Bennett’s in the first place. Not that she was his, either; she was her own person. She should be free to make her own choices, after all. But he couldn’t deny he wanted to join his life to hers, bring her pleasure and let her know she was valued each and every day.
He knew what it would look like; he just didn’t know how to go about it.
“Bennett, I have something to tell you. You recall how you asked me to persuade Lady Eleanor to marry you? Well, it seems I’ve gone and fallen in love with her, and I am hopeful that she returns the sentiment, so I’m going to have to ask you to step aside.”
Bennett might do as Alex asked—he knew that—but his father wouldn’t, no matter how much he explained. He would likely delight in thwarting his vastly disappointing second son. Nor did he think the Duke of Marymount would accept the said second son when the heir in line for the title and the gentleman with all the responsibility could be had.
Nor could he ask Eleanor to consider it in the first place, given the importance reputation was to her. She’d said as much when they were first discussing the arrangement. His family provided respectability, hers provided funds. The usual marital calculation conducted in every aristocrat’s study.
For once, he couldn’t just speak his mind and have it all work out. He couldn’t tell Eleanor he had fallen in love with her, he couldn’t tell Bennett either, and he couldn’t allow his father to know any of it.
He wished he could return to those days of blunt speaking and cavalier affairs. Only he didn’t. Now that he’d spent time with her, kissed her, touched her, had her, he didn’t want to be the person he’d been before. He wanted to be more.
You are far more than what you think.
He’d prove that she was correct. Not to her, she already believed it. But to himself.
Lady Eleanor’s Good List for Being Bad:
Do something you can’t even possibly begin to think of writing down.
Chapter 21
Eleanor took a deep breath before nodding to the footman to open the door to the breakfast room. She hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before—staying up too late with your sisters and then staying up after that to relive the day’s events didn’t leave much time for sleeping—but she felt refreshed, alert. Alive.
And sore.
“There you are, dear,” her mother said, lifting her gaze from her toast to welcome her oldest daughter. None of her sisters were in the room. “There’s a letter for you. I wonder if it is from Lord Carson.” And she waggled her eyebrows significantly. “Your father and I are most eager to see this betrothal become official. Not that it isn’t official, since it is official within the family, of course, but I would like to be able to announce it to the world.” She returned her attention to her toast, her daughter’s future apparently less important than her breakfast.
A cold feeling of dread settled in Eleanor’s stomach. Official within the family? She knew that it was relatively settled, but having her mother proclaim it like that made it seem far too real. She’d have to say something sooner rather than later in spite of what she’d decided. What all the Howlett sisters had decided.
The feeling of dread was replaced by a feeling of wonder, at her sisters for supporting her so thoroughly. Even Olivia, who was not the most selfless of sisters. She would never have imagined it, not even two weeks ago. But it had happened, and she was going to see it through.
She went and took her place at the table, picking up the envelope next to her plate, tearing it open as one of the other footmen poured tea into her cup.
She’d barely registered the handwriting on the envelope when her vision clouded with tears, and she stifled a cry, getting up so suddenly her chair tipped over.
“What is it?” she heard her mother ask.
Eleanor shook her head fiercely, clasping the envelope to her chest as she ran out, running upstairs up to her room, waving Cotswold out before slamming the door shut, holding the envelope close as though she were hugging her sister.
Della, Della, Della.
Her sister was in trouble. And Eleanor would have to fix it.
Dear Eleanor,
I miss you and our sisters. I have cherished all the letters you’ve written me. Thank you. I am writing to let you know that Mr. Baxter and I have parted ways. I am still in England, north of London. Thankfully we never made it across the border to get married. I know you and the rest of the world might see my not being married as a bad thing, but I am relieved. I made a terrible mistake, Eleanor.
I do, however, have a child. A little girl whom I’ve named Nora, after you. She is just three months old, and she is already as smart as Ida. I love her so much. That is why I am writing.
I’ve run out of money—Mr. Baxter made certain of that—and Nora is hungry. Can you send me something, anything, to help feed us?
Please don’t try to find us. Just send the money to Mrs. Howlett, care of the Golden Arms. I’ll get it. I d
on’t want to bring any more shame onto the family. I am so sorry to have done this to you all, it was never my intention to cause this much trouble.
Lovingly,
Della
Eleanor leaned against her bedroom door, reading the few lines over and over again. So much was said there, and yet not enough—why weren’t she and Mr. Baxter married? Why had he left her? How could he have left her when she was going to bear his child? Would Father even give him money? What would happen if word spread that not only had Della run off, but she wasn’t even married to the man?
More questions. So many questions. One question she could answer, however, was the hardest: Yes, she would marry Lord Carson if it meant that it kept Della safe and her sisters’ reputations unscathed. If it meant she could go and fetch her sister home, bringing her to Eleanor’s respectable home, daring anyone to face the combined force of the Duke of Marymount and the Marquis of Wheatley.
That was a reason to get married, surely.
What did her wishes matter in the greater scheme of things? Lord Carson was perfectly nice. He wasn’t his brother, true, but then again, only his brother was his brother.
Which didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t care about that now. No matter what she had done the day before. No matter what she felt about him.
Not when her whole life seemed to rest on one roll of the die; listen to what her heart said and gamble with her sisters’ futures, or listen to what her head said and compromise her own wants for everyone else’s.
The choice was clear.
Armed with her purpose, she focused again on the now, starting as she felt a repetitive thumping underneath her back. She turned, the letter still in her grasp, twisting the doorknob with the other hand.
Her sisters spilled into the room, all of them with the same wide-eyed, curious expressions.
Olivia snagged the letter from her hand before Eleanor could realize what she was doing. She held it out so Ida and Pearl could read as well.
“Oh my,” Pearl said on an indrawn breath. “Oh my,” she repeated, meeting Eleanor’s eyes. “We have a niece? And Della is—oh my,” she said again.
“We have to find her,” Ida announced. “I will fetch my atlas and plot out the general area she might be in.” She flew out of the room, a determined set to her mouth.
Olivia narrowed her gaze at Eleanor, who tried to return her sister’s look without flinching.
“Don’t you even th—” she began, only to whirl around as their mother propelled herself into the room, breathing heavily.
Their mother didn’t wait either before snatching the letter, yanking it out of Olivia’s hand and holding it right up to her nose.
Eleanor knew where her poor eyesight had come from.
“Oh no,” she moaned. “Duke! Duke!” she called, leaving the room with the letter still in her hand, waving it in the air like a flag of surrender.
“Now what?” Pearl said in a quiet voice.
Both sisters looked at Eleanor, who felt her chest tighten. “Now I suppose I’ll have to marry Lord Carson if it means there’s a chance we could get Della and Nora back into the family again.” She held her hand up as Olivia opened her mouth. “The thing is, I know that possibility is remote. I know that. But I also know the possibility doesn’t exist if the reputation of our family remains in jeopardy. There is simply no way for Della to return to London, return to us, if we aren’t better situated.” She exhaled. “And the quickest way to make that happen is for me to get married.”
Olivia snapped her mouth closed and glared at Eleanor, Pearl doing the same but adding folded arms to the picture of furious sisters.
It was only a dream, the chance of being free of marriage. The chance of exploring what other adventures Lord Alexander could show her.
“But, Eleanor,” Pearl started to say, only to turn her head as they heard the unmistakable footsteps of their father coming up the stairs. Their mother was talking, as usual, and it didn’t take a genius like Ida to know what she was saying.
The duke appeared at Eleanor’s door, something he hadn’t done since she was young. He glanced at all the sisters in turn, his gaze alighting on Eleanor. “I want to speak to Eleanor alone,” he said, his eyebrows lowering.
Olivia and Pearl looked as though they wanted to stand their ground, but they left after a nod from Eleanor.
The duchess was behind her husband. He held the letter in his hand and shook it at Eleanor as though it were a weapon. “Do you see what has happened?”
Well, yes, it is my letter, she wished she were brave enough to reply.
“I do, sir,” she said instead.
“I allowed you some leniency because you are so sensible.” I am? Eleanor thought. Followed quickly by, That was leniency?
“But we must settle this business now. You must announce your betrothal to Lord Carson.” He glared down at the letter again. “I am going to have to raise the amount of your dowry as well to ensure the matter is taken care of.”
Eleanor blinked as the meaning of his words settled in her brain. So not only was she going to have to marry someone she didn’t wish to, but her father was going to have to pay more for the privilege of her doing so?
Well, thank goodness she was already aware of her value in this family or she would be suffering from a strong lack of confidence. She knew her sisters loved her, and that was the most important thing.
No, that was wrong. The most important thing was that Della and her daughter would be safe. And Eleanor could do that. As her father paid through the nose.
She allowed herself a moment to roll her eyes, and then she nodded at her parents. “Fine. We should go now to settle it all. We need to take care of this before there is any more talk.” Before ladies like Lady Vale spread their malicious truths. Not that she cared about the scandal. She just needed to make sure her sisters, all of them, were taken care of.
“We cannot go now, it is too early!” Her mother sounded horrified at the prospect. Because it was one thing to go exchange your daughter and a hefty sum to another family for respectability, but it was another thing to arrive before lunchtime.
“I’ll just send a note around to the viscount to let him know we will be paying him a call.” Her father held Della’s letter to Eleanor as though it was something too distasteful to touch, then left without another word.
Thankfully, or not, her mother had plenty of them.
“I told you to accept Lord Carson straightaway. Now who knows if he will have you?”
He would. He was as honorable as his brother, she knew that. She also knew how important his family was to him, so he would do this, even if it wasn’t something he wanted either.
And Lord Alexander would let him, since he thought so little of himself he wouldn’t believe he should have a say in the matter.
“We’ll have the wedding in a month. That will be enough time for the planning, and everyone will still be in town.”
Her mother was still talking, even though Eleanor hadn’t heard a quarter of what she said.
None of this would matter, would it? In twenty years, or even less, when she was unhappily married to a perfectly fine, perfectly average gentleman who wasn’t the one she wanted?
“Milk and sugar.” She spoke in an assertive tone, one loud enough to make her mother stop talking and stare at her, mouth still open.
“Pardon?”
Eleanor took a deep breath. “I like my tea with milk and sugar. A healthy splash of milk and two teaspoons of sugar.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Her mother’s expression was affronted, as though Eleanor had said something with which she didn’t agree. Something like, “I will not marry someone just to suit your plans.” Because she’d tried that, and it wasn’t going to work out.
“Because you don’t know. You’ve never known.” Eleanor thought for a moment, her mother still struck dumb. “You say you want these things to happen for the family’s respectability, so that the girls and I can marry we
ll. But that’s not what it is about, is it? It’s all about you. You can’t bear the thought of being less than the highly venerated Duchess of Marymount. God forbid one of your daughters makes a mistake, runs off with the wrong man. Marries the wrong man,” she added, her brain whirling. “The thing is, before anything else happens, I want you to know that I take my tea with milk and sugar.” She could cross that item off her list, at least. It was cold comfort, but she had to settle for what she could possibly achieve.
She walked out of her bedroom leaving her mother alone, still speechless.
Alex straightened to his full height before tapping on Bennett’s door.
“Enter,” his brother replied.
Alex opened the door and went in. Bennett’s valet was standing facing Bennett, his back to Alex, adjusting Bennett’s cravat. Bennett took one look at Alex and frowned. “You can go, Saunders,” he said.
Bennett’s valet stepped back, bowed to Alex, and left the room.
“What is it?”
Alex took a deep breath. “I need to tell you someth—” he began, stopping as they heard a commotion on the stairs.
Bennett walked to the door and flung it open, stepping out into the hall, Alex following on his heels.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Bennett called. Alex saw his father storming down the hallway, a piece of paper in his hand.
“It will all be settled today,” the viscount declared.
“What? What will be settled?”
Alex felt a knot start to twist itself in his throat. There was only one thing that remained undone. And clearly there was something making it imperative, so now was not the time to tell his brother he’d gone and fallen in love with his brother’s soon-to-be betrothed. If not already betrothed.
Oh, and relieved her of her virginity on a table in the back room of a bookstore.
“The duke is on his way here to make arrangements. It has gone on far too long. You should have taken care of this already.” Their father glared at Bennett, making Alex wish he could speak up and defend his brother, and Eleanor, for that matter:
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