Page 56 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
“I am staying out of it,” she insisted. “I am simply bringing you dessert.”
“And yet your eyes wander to my desk,” he pointed out.
“And yours wander to my buns.”
His head snapped up, and his eyes widened. He was not sure whether she had made a joke or if his mind was simply filthy.
She smirked at him, setting down the tray next to the document he was reading.
Spencer cleared his throat, ignoring her jab, the way she got under his skin.
“You have delivered dessert,” he said. “You may now leave.”
“It is true!” Eleanor exclaimed, her eyes scanning the document before he could snatch it away.
Spencer tried not to ignore how her bodice pushed up her chest, how low her neckline was, and how her chest had become fuller since she moved to Everdawn.
He averted his gaze, swallowing, but she leaned down, and he found his attention straying back to her curves. He reached for the glass of brandy he’d been nursing and drained it.
“Jack Renshaw is Sister Martha’s brother.”
“Eleanor,” he warned, but she was already picking up the document, pacing alongside his desk as she read it, her eyes wide and bright.
He made an annoyed sound and tried to snatch it from her, but she moved back, scowling at him, and continued reading it.
“I have worked quite discreetly to get this information. Do not go shouting about it now. It is none of your business.”
“Oh, I believe it is. I can help.”
“No, you can be safe and away from this whole mess.”
“I-I can be of most help now. I can write to Sister Martha?—”
“No,” he growled. “No, you will?—”
“Yes,” she hissed, cutting him off. “I have gardened and I have baked, yet I remain restless while you get to investigate the very man who schemed to ruined me and was the catalyst in sending me to that awful place. Do you not think I deserve to get some justice? That I do not wish to sit back like a damsel waiting to be saved? I cannot do as much as you, I understand that, for I am limited with how and where I can be seen and speak with, but I can dosomething.”
She stopped, putting the document back on his desk.
Those brilliant brown eyes met his, and he was entranced by them for a moment. His body responded to her insistence, to the way she riled him up so quickly. Her defiance made him ache to teach her obedience.
He pushed away those dark thoughts—for they were nothing but fantasies he wouldn’t indulge in—and focused on the woman standing before him. Not the woman he imagined astride him, her wrists clasped in his hands, pinned behind her back.
Heavens.
He exhaled heavily. He blamed Theodore and his foolish comments for his inability to wrangle his thoughts about his wife into something proper.
Yes, Theodore was to blame. Definitely not Spencer’s lack of self-control when he had kissed her. Definitely not how she had sounded, or how her nails had scratched his scalp lightly when she tangled her fingers in his hair.
“You deserve justice,” he told her. “You deserve it greatly, but not at the risk of your own safety.”
“I am tired of that argument. I will write to Sister Martha for more information. I-I can claim that her decision to let me go has reformed me, that marriage has cleansed my soul and that I have found God through matrimony. I can claim I have a troubled cousin who needs a… reprieve.”
“She will never fall for it. She is smart.”
“She is foolhardy and will give favor to anybody who praises her work,” Eleanor countered. “I know her. If she thinks she is helping someone find God, then she will allow the past to be water under the bridge and believe any lies I tell her.”
“I do not think that is a good idea. What if your letter falls into the wrong hands?”
