Page 38 of Eliza and the Duke
“Whitechapel, Miss Dove. Lived there all my life until Montague Club.” Devonworth already knew much of his history, so Simon didn’t mind telling it in this company.
“You are very young to have the running of the club, though, aren’t you?” Mrs. Dove asked. She was poking at his story, looking for holes.
“Depends on what you consider to be young, Mrs. Dove.”
“Quite right, I suppose,” she agreed.
“Have you ever traveled, Mr. Cavell?” Miss Dove asked.
“I went to Scotland once. Leigh has a family home there, Blythkirk. He’s recently renovated it with Lady Leigh’s help, and they invited me up for the hunting party when they opened it.”
“Did you like Scotland?” Eliza asked, her eyes bright with interest. “I’ve not yet been there, but I’ve heard it’s a beautiful place.”
“It’s more beautiful a place than any I’ve ever been.” Which wasn’t saying very much considering his only other trip had been an overnight to Kent. “It was peaceful, and I never knew the sky could be so big.” He’d wanted to stay there longer.
“Did you hunt?” Miss Dove asked.
He shook his head. “I’m not much of a huntsman.” The trip had been his only real encounter with nature. He’d not seen the need to destroy it, when it had given him so much peace.
“No, but as I recall you were quite the marksman,” Devonworth put in. “Outshot everyone with targets.”
“Is that right?” Mrs. Dove asked, impressed.
Simon glanced up and caught Eliza staring at him. She held his gaze as the conversation continued. The women switched to asking about Montague Club again. His answers were aided by Devonworth, who also had some familiarity with the club. The entire time, Eliza watched him. Her gaze bordered on adoring, and he had to force himself not to look at her.
Half agony, half hope.
He was relieved when the conversation turned to Cox, whohad to answer a similar bevy of questions. Eliza dutifully turned her attention to the man, and Simon allowed himself the pleasure of looking at her profile.
Half agony, half hope.Did she see a way forward for them, or was she simply being impulsive, again?
A footman asked if he was finished with his soup, which forced him to look away from her. Another footman set a plate of roast beef in its place. Something touched his foot beneath the table. It was her foot. He glanced over at her to make certain, and she smiled at him, heat smoldering in her gaze.
This was too much. He was all agony at this point. Still, he did not pull his foot away from her reach even as he redoubled his efforts to concentrate on his food.
By the time the meal was finished, he’d decided that he needed to confront her. He waited. She had to stop looking at him so obviously. The women retired to the drawing room, and Devonworth offered the men cigars at the table. Simon accepted and rose to his feet to watch the women leave. The men stayed in the dining room for about ten minutes until Cox asked about a painting they had seen earlier in the upstairs corridor. When Devonworth offered them a closer look, Simon declined and remained in the dining room to finish his cigar.
Left alone, he stayed on his feet and walked to stand behind the closed door, silently counting the seconds. To get upstairs, the men would have to pass by the open door of the drawing room. Eliza would see that he hadn’t accompanied the men. He gave her exactly thirty seconds to make an excuse and find a way to come back to the drawing room.
The door opened on the count of thirty-two. The skirt of Eliza’s blue dress preceded her into the room. She paused inside the door and he grabbed her arm and pulled hercompletely into the room. The door closed and he pressed her against it, holding his hand over her mouth to silence her gasp of surprise.
“I knew you’d come,” he said.
She smiled behind his hand and he let it drop between them. He couldn’t not touch her, though. His hand found hers of its own accord. “Of course I came.”
“Half agony, half hope.” He recited her words back to her.
“You didn’t write me back,” she admonished him gently.
“Why did you write it?” he asked instead of answering her accusation.
A pretty blush stained her cheeks. “It’s true.”
“What do you mean by hope?”
She took in a breath and her free hand came up to his face. The backs of her fingers pressed his cheek. He had to fight not to lean into her touch. “I meant the hope that I would see you again, but it’s become more…” She let out a ragged breath. “Sometimes I think of you and a future where we are together.”
He clenched his teeth to keep from leaning into the absolute pleasure that her words evoked in him. He reminded himself that they hardly knew each other, so ideas like those had no place between them. When he was certain he could control himself, he said, “That can never happen.”
