Page 25 of His Forbidden Duchess
There he is.
She spotted him across the lawn, deep in conversation with a group of gentlemen. Mortcombe, always perfectly polished in his attire, stood out with his well-cut coat and confident stance. His eyes found hers, and he smiled that self-satisfied smirk she had grown to loathe. Eloise forced herself to return his smile and made her way back to the refreshments table.
If she had to endure his company, she might as well enjoy something sweet to make it bearable.
As she lingered near the table, selecting a small confection, she felt Mortcombe’s presence behind her. His approach was deliberate and slow—he liked to make an entrance.
Eloise took a breath, steadying herself.
“Lady Eloise,” Mortcombe’s smooth, deep voice came from behind her. She could feel his eyes on her body. “That gown… it looks superb on you.”
“Lord Mortcombe,” she greeted him, turning with a polite smile, though her heart wasn’t in it. “Always so kind.”
He stepped closer, standing almost too near, and Eloise resisted the urge to step back. She glanced around, hoping for a distraction, but the guests were all absorbed in their own conversations. Her duty, it seemed, could not be avoided.
Besides, she had an agenda to fulfill.
“I could not help but notice you from across the garden,” he continued, his eyes sweeping over her in a way that made her skin crawl. “I must say, you are the highlight of this event.”
Eloise laughed softly though the sound was hollow to her ears. “You flatter me, My Lord.”
Mortcombe’s gaze moved to the sweets table. “Ah, I see you have chosen a treat,” he said with an amused gleam in his eyes. “Do share—are they as delightful as they look?”
Eloise hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to perform for him, to mimic the playful banter she might exchange with someone like Felix, who she could not get out of her mind. But with Lord Mortcombe, every smile and every word felt forced. Still, she knew what needed to be done.
She looked down at the small, delicate, sugar-dusted confection in her hand and slowly raised it to her lips. This time, there was no enjoyment in the gesture, no teasing glance or hint of pleasure.
She knew she had to feign her interest in anything related to Mortcombe. Eloise suddenly realized that with Felix, it all came naturally. She did not have to pretend.
Pretend Felix is in front of you now.
This time, she bit into it with deliberate slowness, knowing that Lord Mortcombe was watching her closely, waiting for a reaction. She tried to mimic joy and pleasure, tantalizing movement of her lips, but she felt ridiculous. She swallowed, her face carefully composed into one of polite enjoyment.
“Quite good,” she said, her voice pleasant but detached.
Mortcombe blinked once and then smiled, clearly pleased with her effort. “I thought as much. You have excellent taste, Lady Eloise.”
She forced another smile, feeling a twinge of resentment in her chest.
She didn’t want his compliments or his attention. Yet here she was, performing for him like some kind of puppet, bound by the expectations of her family and society but most of all, by the debt that hung around her family’s collective neck like a noose. It made her feel trapped, and the more she played the part, the more stifling it became.
“I am glad you approve,” she replied, trying to maintain her composure.
As their uncomfortable conversation dragged on, Eloise felt herself slipping further into the hollow role she had forced herself to play. Mortcombe, ever self-assured, continued his subtle flirtations, but her patience was wearing thin.
Just as she was about to force another polite response, salvation arrived.
“Mortcombe!” A familiar voice cut through the tension, and Eloise turned to see Lord Haversham approaching, his jovial expression and booming voice a welcome interruption. “I have been looking for you all afternoon. There is a matter which requires your immediate attention.”
Mortcombe’s expression tightened, clearly displeased at being pulled away from Eloise. Still, he could not ignore Haversham’s presence. He offered Eloise a thin, apologetic smile that barely masked his frustration, and she was pleased, at least, to see that her plan was still working.
“Lady Eloise, it seems duty calls. But I do hope we can continue this delightful conversation soon. Perhaps we can try some of the other confections upon my return.”
Eloise nodded, the relief she felt hidden beneath a mask of polite composure. “Of course, Lord Mortcombe.”
With a lingering glance, Mortcombe allowed himself to be led away by Haversham, leaving Eloise standing alone at the table. As soon as he was out of sight, she let out a long breath, the tension draining from her body.
Her sense of relief was quickly replaced by a creeping feeling of discomfort and dirtiness, as though she had been sullied by the mere act of entertaining Lord Mortcombe’s advances. She felt trapped in her role, playing the charming lady for a man she could hardly bear to be near. She didn’t like it, but she was determined to see it through. It was the only weapon she had in her arsenal.
