Page 14 of Eliza and the Duke
“Ugh. I wouldn’t be so certain. Sir Barnaby’s a timid one. He might fold under the sort of scandal a jilting would bring,” Eliza said, her good humor gone.
Simon hated the thought of her with Mainwaring. That prick did not deserve her. His head dropped back against the wall with a thud of dejection. He stiffened, but it was too late. The sound had already been noted. Eliza appeared at the parlor’s threshold before he could take two steps down the hall.
“Well, good evening, Mr. Cavell. What brings you lurking about the hallway?” Her sly smile captivated him.
“Miss Eliza.” He inclined his head in greeting. “I was hoping to speak with Mrs. Dove about the schedule for tomorrow. I’ll return later.” He turned to go, but she rushed forward and put a hand on his arm.
“There’s no need for that. I can give it to you.”
Her fingers were long and tapered with perfectly oval fingernails that had been buffed to a shine. He had to tear his gaze away from her hand, which had fallen to rest on his forearm.
“I don’t mind returning,” he said.
“But that’s silly. I can tell you now.” She smiled up at him and still hadn’t released his arm.
He couldn’t think of a good reason to put her off. Saying that he needed to put space between them seemed unwise. Instead, he inclined his head.
She finally let him go and took his place at the wall, leaning back a little to look up at him. Her rose scent teased him, and he almost stepped forward to get closer.
“Tomorrow will be a full day, and you’ll likely need Mr. Cox’s assistance,” she began. “Jenny and I have a luncheon with the London Suffrage Society, but Mama is going to meet a friend for tea at Claridge’s. She’ll go there after dropping us off. After that, we’re all going to the British Museum.” She paused and her eyes became devilish slits. “We should have time to stop by Montague Club should you—”
“Eliza,” he said in a low warning tone. He didn’t realize that he’d used her first name until her eyes deepened and her smile widened. He was becoming entirely too familiar with her.
“I didn’t mean that I would go in, only that you might need to go there.”
“Thank you for your consideration, but I won’t need to go there.”
“Are you certain? I’ve heard there’s a big exhibition brawl there next week and that you’re the main attraction. You must need to—”
“Where did you hear that about the brawl?” he asked.
“I saw Violet, Lord Leigh’s wife, yesterday when Mr. Cox was escorting me.” At his distressed look, she rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I kept your secret,” she whispered.
Devonworth believed that he’d have things well in hand by the end of the week, so Simon wouldn’t be here much longer. The bloke who had made the initial threat seemed to have reconsidered things. Simon couldn’t wait for this to be over so that he wouldn’t have to see her every day, almost as much as he dreaded not seeing her every day.
“Eliza.” He glanced around to make certain they were stillalone. “Do not mention that here. The very fact that there’s a secret to keep would be suspect.”
“I’ve offered you a very fair negotiation.”
He was starting to reconsider how much he liked her. She could be annoying. “You have not and you know it. I cannot take you out.” He infused his whispered words with every bit of indignation he could muster.
“From what I can see, Mr. Cavell, you could do what you want.” Her eyes dropped to his shoulders and then his chest, sizing him up.
The way she looked at him, as if she truly believed that, gave him pause. It made him want it to be true. If it were, he’d reach out and touch her soft skin, tip her head to the side and take her lips with his.
He was saved from answering by Mrs. Dove. “Mr. Cavell, good evening.” She had somehow come down the stairs without him hearing and now approached them. “I found it, Eliza.” She waved sheet music over her head. “I knew I had packed it. Jenny, darling, sing this for us. I’ll accompany you on the pianoforte.”
Jenny hurried out to retrieve the music and then walked back into the room as she read it over.
Mrs. Dove turned back to them. “You’re going to love this song,” she said to Eliza. “It’s very sanguine and with a fast meter.” To Simon, she said, “Come join us, won’t you, Mr. Cavell?”
“Thank you, madam, but I cannot.”
Her face fell. “Why not? Do you sing? We could use a nice baritone.”
He wanted to. He imagined being in that room with them, watching Eliza and singing with her family, and something about it felt warm and good. He’d never spent a night like that, like someone who was part of a real family.
“It wouldn’t be proper.” Though as he said it, he suspected the woman didn’t give a fig about propriety. “I was on my way out,” he rushed to add. “Mr. Cox is staying overnight. I must get back to Montague Club.” His gaze jerked to Eliza at the mention of the club.
