Page 31 of Eliza and the Duke
“Are you all right?” he asked. He squeezed her hand gently.
“I just had the odd thought that I barely know who I am.”
He chuckled at that. “No, not you, Miss Dove. You know more about who you are than anyone I’ve ever met.”
That name didn’t set right with her suddenly. It was wrong because it wasn’t real. Nothing was real but her own name, and she wanted more than anything to be real with him. “Call me Eliza. Please?”
“Eliza.” The name rolled over her skin like a caress.
She couldn’t hold the intensity of his gaze, so she looked down at their hands. His nails were short and well-kept, but there were small scars on every finger.
“That makes your father a bellend, for certain, but not a killer like Brody,” he said.
“I’m sure he’d like to think the same. Which is worse, Simon? A man like Brody who takes advantage of people in horrific situations or a man like my father who helps create those very same situations.” At his questioning look, she added, “I mentioned that he owns real estate. Some of those are tenement buildings. Buildings that are cheaply made with exorbitant rents. It’s ironic that Devonworth is fighting for water access for such buildings when Hathaway is rumored to have spent thousands fightingagainsta similar policy in the States. He cares only for himself.”
Simon’s jaw tightened as she spoke. “Did you know him at all as a child? How is he with you?” he whispered.
She had vague memories of him coming to see them when she was very young. Her mother would line them up in their Sunday best and he would nod to each of them. She couldn’t remember a conversation she’d ever had with him. Mostly, she had hidden behind Cora. Then the visits had stopped. Cora had gone to see him at his Fifth Avenue townhome last autumn when they had received the note about their inheritances, but he’d never come to see them. Eliza had only met him again here in London, and he might as well have been a stranger to her. She explained all of that and ended with, “He’s barely spoken to me.”
Simon was quiet for so long that she thought perhaps he didn’t know what to say. But then he looked up at her again and his eyes were burning. “Is that how you see your life now? Living with a man who barely sees you?”
“You don’t think I should marry Mainwaring, do you?”
He didn’t move. His fingers didn’t so much as twitch. “That’s not up to me,” he finally said after an interminably long time.
Gathering her courage, she said, “It’s not, but my questionstands. You don’t think I should marry him.” It wasn’t really a question, though, was it?
“You’ll be miserable, but that’s beside the point. You’re not marrying him for happiness.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not expecting to be very happy.”
He wanted to say more; she could see it in his face. Instead, he brought his cup to his mouth with his free hand and swallowed very deliberately. She watched his throat work with the action.
“He didn’t even ask me to marry him,” she said.
An eyebrow rose in response. “Are you not betrothed?”
“He spoke with my mother at the end of the house party Camille gave for us when we first came to England. Then, later, he met with Devonworth and Mr. Hathaway. He never actually asked me.” He’d had every reason to assume her consent. The whole reason they were in England was to find husbands. Still…it had always irritated her that he hadn’t bothered to ask her the question.
Simon licked his lips and then said a bit ruefully, “A man should ask you himself.”
“You would have asked me.”
His eyes deepened and became heavy as they met hers. He let out a long breath through his nose and whispered, “I would have asked you.”
And she would have said yes. For a moment, she allowed herself the absurd luxury of imagining herself with Simon.
Eliza didn’t know how long they sat staring at each other. Two of the men got up from the table in the back and left out the front door, the little bell on the door jingling behind them. She glanced away first and Simon let go of her hand. She might have audibly protested, a sound drawn from deep within herat not being able to touch him, but if she did, he didn’t appear to notice. He gathered up her half-empty cup along with his and set them on the counter. When he returned, he offered her his hand and she took it.
This was it…the end of their night. She might not ever see him again. There would be no reason to see him. She’d promised him that this would be it. She’d leave him alone. He drew her to her feet and she followed him out the door feeling like she’d left half of herself inside. Half of her would forever be in that coffeehouse with him while the rest of her, the ghost of her, would be with Mainwaring…married and not at all who she was meant to be.
A light rain had started to fall while they were inside. She didn’t mind. She thought—hoped—that maybe they would have trouble finding a hansom because of the hour, but as if he’d summoned it, a cab stopped for them at the corner. The driver rubbed his tired eyes as he asked Simon their direction.
Because of the rain, the driver pulled the leather curtain closed before climbing up on the seat behind the carriage. Eliza tried to look out the window on her side, but her gaze kept going back to Simon, who seemed deep in concentration as he looked out his own window. He hadn’t touched her since they had climbed on board, except for where his thigh pressed against hers in the enclosed space. London flew past them faster than it had any right to. They’d be in Mayfair soon, and it would be like the night had never happened.
“Simon.”
His breath stilled, but otherwise he didn’t acknowledge her.
