“Henry.” Eliza did not shout. She didn’t even raise her voice.
She turned ever so slightly and very slowly held out her hand. She was giving him something. He kept his eyes on Henry as he slowly reached out a hand. The dog growled, softly, menacingly, but there wasn’t anything aggressive about the noise. It was more defensive, a warning to whomever might hurt his mistress.
Something slightly slimy and smelling of salt landed in his palm. He finally averted his gaze to see what it was.
Ham.
He looked up and wished he hadn’t.
Unshed tears shone in Eliza’s eyes, the kind that spring up involuntarily in reaction to a palpable hurt. He’d done that. He’d put those tears there because she thought he had changed his mind.
He forgot about the dog. He forgot about the piece of ham in his hand and leaned forward.
“Eliza—”
Henry let out a warning growl, harsher and deeper this time.
He hesitated. “Eliza—”
The dog took the smallest of steps forward.
“Give him the ham.” She said the words with a low urgency, but guilt gnawed at him.
He turned and thrust out his hand to the dog, which again was the wrong thing to do. The dog moved to snap at his fingers before he must have caught a sniff of the ham because the snap turned into a lick. Immediately, Henry put his butt down, head up in a perfect sit, his gaze once more peaceful.
“Here.” This time Eliza thrust the piece of ham into his hand, and her fingers gently brushed his palm. That tiniest of touches sparked something within him, and he hurriedly gave the ham to Henry.
Henry licked satisfyingly at his jowls, the ham gone in an instant. He adjusted his great paws and looked up as if expecting more.
“Henry is very protective of me. He just needs to know you’re a friend.” Eliza’s words were rushed, so unlike the calm, cunning woman he was beginning to know.
He grabbed her. He just had to stop the flow of words.
Henry whined now, but he didn’t try to bite him, thank God. Instead, Eliza’s expression turned to stone. Her eyes went wide behind her lenses, and her small mouth all but disappeared as she sucked her lips in.
He remembered that ghost of a whimper when he’d touched her the night before in a way far more proper than this, and something sliced through him, hot and devouring.
“Eliza, I have not changed my mind. I simply didn’t realize you had a dog at all. Henry will love Ashbourne Manor.”
At the sound of his name, Henry thumped his tail against the floor as if he understood whatever that was being said of him was a positive thing.
The tears never slid their way from Eliza’s eyes, and he wondered at the strength there. How many other times had she been condemned because of her appearance alone? How many other times had she been rejected? Found wanting? He could easily forget the fragility that lay beneath her sharp tongue, and he would do better not to forget it.
“You have not changed your mind.”
It wasn’t a question, and he wondered if she spoke aloud as to reassure herself.
“I have not.” The words breathed out of him like the last puff of energy he held.
This was a far cry from the day he had imagined, but it struck him suddenly that perhaps it was better.
He held Eliza by the arms, and she stood mere inches from him so he could see the flecks of gold in her irises even behind the lenses of her spectacles. There was a small freckle by her left ear. Without thinking he let his gaze wander, and before he knew what he was about, he’d firmly imagined her wild hair loosened from its pins and blowing in the wind that swept along the cliffs of Ashbourne Manor. It suddenly wasn’t frizzy at all. It was wild and thick and luxurious, he just knew it.
He swallowed. This was not good. This was not good at all.
“Then I accept,” she said.
He forgot for an instant what it was she was agreeing to before he remembered he’d asked for her hand.
Later he would blame her hair and the transfixing quality it possessed, because otherwise, he couldn’t think of why he did what he did.
Because he said, “Then we should seal the bargain with a kiss, shan’t we?”
Chapter 3
Was that how one agreed to an offer of marriage?
Viv had not warned her of such.
Eliza would have felt inadequate if she had simply not dismissed the entire subject of relationships such as these as a matter with which she would have very little interaction.
“Is that customary?” The question seemed like a reasonable one, but a smile tipped the corners of Ashbourne’s mouth.
She wondered now if she might have made a misstep in inviting him to call her by her given name, but it was tedious to hear him say her moniker over and over like that when it was highly unnecessary. Except he hadn’t reciprocated the gesture, and she was left feeling hollow and unsure. No matter. As long as she could keep her mouth shut and maintain a civil distance from him until they were wed, she could get this matter over quickly.
And then she would have her baby.
There was just this kissing matter to get out of the way.
“I should think when two people pledge their lives to one another a sign of mutual respect is not out of line.”
She tilted her head. “This is hardly a pledge, Your Grace. You arranged the matter with my brother. I’m simply lucky to be the daughter of a forward-thinking family that allowed me to have a say on the subject.”
“Dax.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon.”
“You may address me by my given name.”
Her eyes widened. “Your given name is Dax? I thought you had sneezed or something.”
His laugh was startling, and Henry tensed beside her. She wiggled just enough in Ashbourne’s grasp to scratch at the dog’s head.
“The full name is Daxton Phillip Wilmington Kane, but my mother shortened it to Dax when she tired of calling out the entire thing in reprimand.”
“You were a naughty boy?” It was supposed to have been a curious question, but something tightened Ashbourne’s features, and he licked his lips nervously. How odd.
“Something like that.”
His face was marvelous. She had been overcome by the beauty of it, but now that the novelty had passed, she could better observe his features. He had a rather square face, and for once, she understood what artists meant when someone had a chiseled face. Ashbourne looked like he may have erupted straight from granite for the hard lines of his forehead and jaw. There was the cleft in his chin she found particularly remarkable, and his eyes were so, so deep.
While his features were lovely to gaze upon, she was finding his change of mood and the way it translated on those features to be of far more interest. For example, he quite clearly was in pain now from the line that appeared between his brows, and she thought it likely it had something to do with the thought of having to kiss her.
She tried to step back, but he held her too tightly.
“It’s quite all right, but I shall not hold you to the custom.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The customary kiss. Do not feel obligated to perform the ritual. Our agreement on the matter suits me.”
His laugh was softer this time.
“It isn’t so much a custom.”
She was close enough to smell a hint of coffee on his breath and something spicy, like cinnamon. She leaned in, just a little, hoping to catch that tantalizing whiff of sandalwood, but his words drew her back.
“It isn’t a custom? Then why would you suggest it?”
His eyes clouded, and she wondered if she’d said something wrong.
“You’re questioning why a man would want to kiss you?”
“Well, it’s never happened before, so if it’s not a custom, I can’t think of a reason why you would want to.”
Once again his eyes took on the quality so much like a dog, deep and fathomless. Something she had said
had caused him to think and whatever it was, he did not seem to like where his thoughts took him.
“You’ve never been kissed?”
“What an absurd question. Of course, I have not.”
His hands dropped away from her, and she swayed ever so slightly at the loss of his strength. Her stomach rolled at the sensation.
“What is absurd about it?” His eyes had come back to her, sharp and focused.
She gestured to her person. “Are you quite serious?”
His frown could have frozen lava.
“I see nothing amiss that would prevent a gentleman from attempting to procure a kiss.”
She returned his frown. “You do not need to waste pleasantries on me, Your Grace. I know very well how plain I am. The term used is wallflower although I cannot see why. I think wallflowers are quite pretty. I understand we may choose to stand on the periphery of gatherings as wallflowers enjoy climbing walls at the edge of the garden for growth, but I still cannot ascertain its application to one’s appearance.” She shrugged. “Be that as it may I see no point for this kiss if it’s not customary.”
She may have gone and dumbfounded him now for he did not speak. He blinked several times and licked his lips again.
Finally, he spoke. “Allow me to be absolutely certain. You’re saying there is no reason I should want to kiss you other than a demand of custom or ritual that calls for such an action.”
“Yes, that’s quite precisely what I’m saying.”
He crossed his arms now. The effect was unsettling as his jacket strained against his broad shoulders, and his hands fisted like meaty lumps. God, his hands were huge. How had she not noticed before? Henry whined beside her, and she scratched his head.
“Are you always like this?”
She bit her tongue. It was a reflex from the many times her father had spoken similar words when she’d said something inappropriately witty for the occasion.
“I do beg your pardon, Your Grace.” She took a small step to put herself behind Henry and allowed a slight, unassuming smile to take her lips. “I’ve never received a proposal before, and I apologize if my behavior was not appropriate. I promise to do better.” She cast her gaze to the floor as was her habit when she’d drawn too much attention to herself because of her sharp tongue.
“Do you have any more ham?”
She had to look at him then. “Ham?”
He nodded to Henry.
She held up the hand that contained the last morsel of ham. He extended his own hand, and she dropped the piece of meat into it.
Ashbourne dipped low toward Henry, a smile coming to his face. “Henry, I hear you’re a very good boy. Do you like to play fetch?”
Before she could understand what he was about, Ashbourne straightened and threw the piece of ham down the length of the drawing room. Henry bolted. He cleared the sofa in a single leap of furry tail and flinging drool. But that was all she saw because just then Daxton Kane, the Duke of Ashbourne, swept her into a kiss.
As she had never before been ravished by a duke, Eliza wasn’t sure what to think or do for that matter, and there was a moment of time where she hung suspended, both in the kiss and on the periphery of it as if she were her former self looking in.
For this kiss obviously marked a place time. Forever now there would be Eliza before and Eliza after. There was no way around it. Something in her shifted with the realization, and with a start, she realized it was something cold and sad. Almost like this kiss marked the end of wallflower Eliza, and that would be terrible because Eliza rather liked herself as a wallflower.
But surely that didn’t make sense. One kiss from a duke didn’t change matters, but was this really just a kiss?
Because Ashbourne’s hands were like vises, pulling her in until she was pressed against the entire length of his body. Her knees knocked against his legs, her stomach his torso, her lips…
This was no ordinary kiss. It couldn’t be. If she were to kiss someone like this every day she would evaporate.
Finally, she had conscious of mind to touch him. It was only to quietly lay her hands on his towering shoulders, but at least, she had an anchor should he release her suddenly, which she would not mark as impossible because she had not been expecting this kind of kiss in the slightest, and surely he could end it just as abruptly.
But then he shifted. It was so subtle she thought she might have missed it, but no. He held her tighter, the hand against her back—did he just fist the back of her gown into his palm to pull her closer?
That was when she became aware of her own emotions as a thrill shot through her so violently she was forced to tighten her grip on Ashbourne’s shoulders. Her stomach clenched, and she had to remember to breathe through her nose lest she faint because—
Oh God, this kiss was marvelous.
It was more than she’d ever dreamed kissing could be. His lips were so soft against hers, gentle and coaxing. She tasted the coffee now, but her senses were overwhelmed with the tantalizing lure of sandalwood she had discovered upon their first meeting.
The kiss was not in the least fixed as she had thought kisses would be. She had always pictured lips coming together and parting, but this was not that. Ashbourne’s lips never stilled against hers. He caressed and nibbled, and her stomach clenched against a roll of sensation so acute a whimper escaped her.
She had hoped he wouldn’t have noticed it, but he must have because he gave a responding groan and—yes, he was holding onto her gown, and yes, he was pulling her even closer. She came up on her tiptoes, no longer able to hold herself up on her own, and she clutched at his shoulders as he plundered her mouth, all gentleness gone.
And she reveled in it.
Pure light coiled deep within her, spreading through her limb by limb. Heat rose, easing its way through muscle and sinew until she had no choice but to push back against him, fight this clawing sensation to be even closer to him. His groan turned into a growl as he pressed her against the drawing room door, his knee sliding between her legs as he lifted her just off her feet.
She scrambled to gain a hold on his shoulders, but it needn’t matter because he held her so exquisitely. Suddenly, she knew she was safe there in Ashbourne’s arms. He would never let her go.
The thought sent a spark of pain through her as she remembered countless days of never feeling another’s touch, the long dark nights when she knew, just knew this would never happen. This kiss. This man. This future.
Her whimper was about more now than just the physical ecstasy of his kiss, and he must have sensed it because suddenly he broke away. It was gentle, and he made sure to set her properly back on her feet before stepping back, but he might as well have ripped her asunder for all the good the gentleness did.
The loss of him struck a new spark within her, and the pain crescendoed, her thoughts tumbling one after another.
Would he ever kiss her like that again?
Would he ever kiss at all?
Or was that to be the one and only kiss she would ever receive in this lifetime?
Quickly she tried to remember every detail, imprint it in her memory so in the future of long, dark, lonely nights she could recall it and draw whatever comfort she could from knowing it had happened.
It was several seconds before she could force herself to open her eyes and look at him. Fear of embarrassment, guilt, and inadequacy surged through her, but it would be so much worse if she didn’t open her eyes.
He stood in front of her, breathing heavily as she had expected, but his expression—
It looked as if he had lost something.
Doubt coursed through her, and she pressed a hand to her stomach.
She wanted to assure he needn’t ever do that again, that he must never be forced to endure such intimate contact with her unless necessary to beget an heir.
But the words stopped in her throat, colliding into one another like a tower of children’s blocks crumpling down, one atop the other.
Ashbourne
swallowed, the movement harsh and pronounced, and the pain flared within her.
“I shall make the necessary arrangements then.” He spoke to the door behind her, and guilt and sorrow rampaged through her.
She wanted to assure him he need never know she was even there. She had been tutored by a superb governess who had taught her everything she must know to be the perfect duchess. He’d need never worry.
He’d never look upon her again unless absolutely necessary.
She would make sure of that.
But before she could say anything, he bid her goodbye and slipped out the door without once looking at her again.
* * *
He climbed into his curricle and picked up the reins, sending the matched pair of bays into a steady trot.
He didn’t know where he was going. He just knew he needed air, lots and lots of precious air.
He was several blocks away from Ravenwood House before he could think clearly, and the first thing he did was adjust his trousers.
Dear God, what had he done?
He’d nearly climbed Eliza right there against her drawing room door. Never before had he reacted to a woman in such a way. It was so pure, so instinctual. He hadn’t even realized what he’d done until she’d made that final whimper.
The sound had been so full of pain, anguish, longing, and denial. He had drowned in it, overwhelmed by the despair and loneliness he had tasted in her kiss.
For the first time, he began to see the flaws in his plan.
He wanted to be callous. He wanted to be hard-hearted when it came to her burden as a wallflower in a society that demanded perfection. But he wasn’t like that. He could never be blind to another’s pain and not attempt to do something about it.
He felt the foundation of his plan quiver, and he tightened his grip on the reins.
The way she had ducked her head, stepped ever so slightly behind that defending beast of hers when he’d questioned her behavior—God, it still stabbed him in the gut. Who had done that to her? Who had made her so wary of even herself?
The Duke and the Wallflower Page 4