Page 10 of Eliza and the Duke
That scent was familiar. It was one of the few things that had stayed with him from that night a week ago. Rose water. Many women used it. Yet, even as he reminded himself of that, he looked back at her much as he imagined a deer that had been run to ground might gape at the hunter responsible, with fear and rounded eyes.
Sensing his alarm, she sobered and released him, holding her fingers spread wide as if to show him she wasn’t a threat.
“We’ve never met.” He stated it firmly so that she would understand the topic wasn’t up for debate.
“But we have.” She trampled all over the statement. “Last week. I met you in the service corridor at Montague Club and helped you get to your friend Mr. Du—”
He moved so fast that even he didn’t know what he was doing until he held her pressed with her back against the stairwelldoor. He held her upper arms in a firm grip. Her brown eyes widened, but she seemed more intrigued than afraid.
“Promise me that you won’t mention what happened that night to anyone.” He kept his voice low.
The corner of her mouth twitched upward but she didn’t smile. “Perhaps I want to tell.”
“Then you’ll give yourself away. I’ll tell your parents about how you were sneaking around where you don’t belong. I can say that a footman saw you.”
“You clearly haven’t met my mother.” She had the nerve to smirk at him. Damn her. “She would quite enjoy my tale of that night. In fact, perhaps I’ll go tell her.”
She made to go around him and he pressed her back into place before him, one hand on her arm while the other shifted to her hip to hold her there. His fingers molded themselves to the curve of her body, and he tried to ignore how he quite liked the feel of her in his hands. She was firm but soft, small but strong. He could break her with his bare hands if he had a mind to, but hurting women had never been part of his job description, not even with Brody. Her sweet scent tugged at him, and his mind began to toy with thoughts of far more pleasant things he could do with her. She caught the change in him and her eyes widened. The antagonism between them shifted to something charged and needy. It was subtle but enough to make his breath waver. He reeled in those unruly thoughts and forced himself to focus on the very real danger at hand.
From what little he’d gleaned about Mrs. Dove from their brief interaction, he was afraid she was right. The woman had seemed unconventional. “Your father, then,” he said. “No father of heiresses would condone one of them cavorting in a gentleman’s club.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing I don’t have one of those.”
What sort of heiress didn’t have a father? She was so damned full of herself that he wanted to shake her. Or kiss her. She had a perfectly bow-shaped mouth with a full lower lip, and he’d had too many fantasies about the phantom woman.
The triumphant look had returned to her eyes. He leaned down, part of him wanting to bask in the heat of that look, part of him still holding on to a shred of the intimidating bruiser he was meant to be. “Your fiancé, then?” he whispered near her temple. The fine hairs there tickled his mouth. “I’m nearly certain you have one of those.” The sisters had all come here to procure one. He couldn’t imagine one of the young lords passing over such a delectable piece.
The reminder of a fiancé made her stiffen, and goose bumps broke out on her arms.
“I don’t believe you’ll tell anyone,” she said.
Gold flecks in her eyes caught the light and twinkled up at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because there’s a reason you don’t want anyone to know that you were in that corridor with me. You tell my secret, Mr. Cavell, I’ll tell yours.” Leaning forward so that the tips of their noses almost touched, she whispered, “Or should I address you as the Duke?”
Fucking hell.
He hadn’t realized he’d revealed so much that night. Something about his expression must have made her think she’d gone too far. She pushed at his shoulder but he didn’t budge. He couldn’t. He was paralyzed by her admission. Before he could get his bearings, she stomped hard on his instep. She was wearing heeled shoes, so a dart of pain shot through his foot and threw him off-balance. Using that to her advantage,she elbowed his stomach and made her way past him and out of the pantry. She was gone before he got over his shock that she’d used violence against him.
He made it to the pantry door before he caught hold of himself. There was no point in going after her. He couldn’t chase her without bringing attention to them. She need only scream to bring the entire household down around them. His only hope was that she’d wait before she told anyone. He’d have to come up with something to offer her, some incentive that would make her keep her mouth shut.
Grumbling at his own poor luck, he stormed back across the room to the stairwell and trudged down for his meeting with the servants.
Six
The street was quiet andsleepy when the carriage pulled up to Camille’s residence where Eliza and her family were staying. Cozy streetlamps flickered in the inky darkness and reflected off the cobblestones, still shiny and wet from the late-afternoon rain. They were returning from a soiree hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Rothschild. August, the duchess, had been very helpful with ensuring the Doves’ successful launch into Society. As an American heiress herself, she knew how vicious the ton could be to outsiders.
Eliza tried her very best to be grateful for the opportunity presented to her, but it was difficult when she knew that marriage to Lord Mainwaring waited for her on the other side of this particular opportunity. That dread of the future had to be why she was so preoccupied with Simon Cavell. He’d occupied her every thought since their confrontation yesterday, even though she hadn’t seen him again. Mr. Cox had accompanied them to the soiree.
He offered her his hand now to assist her out of the carriage.She met his gaze as she stepped out, but he only held it briefly before releasing her to help Fanny and Jenny.
“Where is Mr. Cavell?” she asked with a petulance in her voice that even she found annoying. Simon was around here somewhere. He’d gone into hiding because of her, but she was determined to find him.
“Out, I reckon.” Mr. Cox’s voice was as unperturbed as if she’d asked about the weather.
As she stood waiting for her mother and sister, she searched out the dark corners of the houses and stoops across the road. Would he be hiding there? The only thing she could pick out was the shadow of a cat as it leaped from the ground to a window ledge. He could be on the roof, she supposed. But she couldn’t make out anyone up there when she looked. She sighed inwardly and turned to follow her family inside, but a pinprick of orange light in the darkness across the narrow street caught her eye. It came from the park in the center of the square.
A cigarette? Did Simon smoke? Perhaps a trace of tobaccohadlingered in the air when he’d cornered her in the pantry. She had relived that moment a thousand times since yesterday. His hand on her hip and his body only inches from her, so warm and so very solid. She should have felt threatened—any sane woman would have—butshe’dwanted to kiss him.
