Page 47 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
As she worked, her thoughts drifted to the way he had spoken to her, to his cold question about seeking male attention. Despite her indignation, her first response to Milborne and Monty’s incessant needling had been to defend him. She had endured too much gossip to let the whispers about him fly over her head.
He had looked lost—more lost than she had ever seen or thought him capable of. She could only hope that the bloom and her intervention could somewhat heal the chasm between them. A way to reach a better understanding and make her life more bearable at Everdawn Hall.
So, once she was finished for the day, she went to prepare the first part of her gesture.
“Enter.” The Duke’s voice drifted through the thick, wooden door to his study, low and distracted, as if his work had exhausted him.
Eleanor opened the door, finding him not looking at her but down at the papers strewn across his desk.
“I thought it would be you,” he commented. “The butler has permission to enter regardless, and Theodore simply pushes the door open, unannounced.”
“Theodore?” Eleanor echoed.
“Ah.” He looked up at her, sighing. “The Marquess of Avington. He is a close friend of mine.”
“You have close fri—never mind.” She broke off when he scowled. “May I meet him?”
“No.” She must have flinched, for he grimaced. “Not yet, at least. For what it is worth, he is eager to meet you, but not yet. Did you need anything, Duchess?”
Why do you keep addressing me so formally when we are already married?
She did not dare say that out loud. She knew she had already crossed boundaries; she could not risk crossing more by asking if he wished to drop the formalities.
“I wished to bring you these,” she replied, quickly moving into the hallway to retrieve a plate and reentering the study. “I often baked at St. Euphemia’s, so I asked the cook if I could use the kitchen for a few hours. I thought the poor woman would faint.”
“As I keep telling you, you are indulging in things below you,” he reminded her.
But she truly didn’t care.
“Then I shall take these back to my room, where I will eat them alone,” she said, lifting the plate of honey cakes.
That caught the Duke’s attention.
He lowered his quill to the desk, an eyebrow raised in interest. “Do not be so hasty.”
He tried to sound annoyed, but his eyes said differently.
Eleanor approached his desk and set down the plate.
“It is to make up for teasing you in the village,” she said. “But it is also a thank-you. You keep buying me everything, and I feel as though I have not been grateful enough. You have provideda great deal for me—providedeverything—so a plate of honey cakes is hardly enough…”
He regarded her for so long that she almost backtracked, regretting her idea, thinking it foolish. But then he reached for a cake and took a bite.
His face was stoic for a moment as he chewed, and then his eyes fluttered shut.
Heavens.
Spencer almost moaned as sugar and honey burst on his tongue, held together in a doughy pastry.
This is delicious.
What he tasted was pure heaven in a bite, and his lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile, displaying blatantly how much he enjoyed that single bite. He nudged the plate toward her, saying nothing, but she picked up a cake and bit into it just as he took his next mouthful.
He silently swore that he would not stop her from gardening or baking. Not if the result was something this delicious.
He had not realized he’d closed his eyes again in pleasure until he opened them and found her smiling. Her eyes were so soft, the tilt of her mouth a bit hesitant, and Spencer…
Heaven help him, he was not prepared to see it for the first time, not in such an unguarded manner. One word came to his mind—beautiful. And even that was not enough.
