Page 57 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
“You will only send the letter with somebody you trust implicitly.”
He did not expect her to respond so quickly, so firmly, knowing she was right. But he still shook his head. “No, no I cannot?—”
“Let me,” she begged.
“Eleanor,” he sighed, his voice rough and curling around her name.
“Spencer.”
He went still at that. He had used her name many times, but she had yet to say his, and he was not prepared for how it made him feel.
Eleanor froze. “I-I should not have?—”
“Say it again,” he demanded, even though he knew he was fighting a losing battle.
His grip on his self-control was failing, and she had no idea the power she had over him.
He stood up at her silence and crossed toward her with several, long strides, stopping mere inches from her.
Her hands… they were not soft like the ones of a proper lady who had only known the touch of a quill or the smooth keys of a pianoforte. They were rough, slightly calloused. They had tended to gardens, and had likely sustained injuries from tools andstings from nettles and other thorned plants and flowers. They may have sustained burns from baking.
Her hands would have told her story if she had been silenced. And yet she still raised those hands to his chest, surprising him.
He stepped forward, giving her no choice but to move backward. Brown eyes as dark as his morning coffee never left his own.
She blinked at him, her teeth catching her lower lip.
“Say my name again, Eleanor.”
He felt a small tremor rush through her as he lowered his voice. He dipped his head and let his mouth hover an inch above her cheek.
The scent of jasmine rose from her skin, and he swallowed back a groan at how it intoxicated him, filled his senses and stole every rational thought. He had a thousand things to do, and yet he could not make himself move away.
“Spencer.” His name fell from her lips like a prayer, and he wanted to kiss it off her tongue.
He wanted to chase the heat she ignited in his blood. He wanted to know if she felt that same heat. He wanted to kiss her again, awkwardness be damned. He wanted to know how she tasted everywhere.
His breath caught as he brushed his nose against hers. “Eleanor,” he murmured.
Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting as if awaiting his kiss. But then the door opened so quickly that he barely had time to pull away from her.
His butler stood at the threshold, looking uncertain and slightly flustered.
I should not have given him leave to enter without permission.
“An invitation has arrived for you, Your Graces.” The butler bowed. “Forgive the interruption.”
Spencer cleared his throat and snatched the proffered letter before dismissing him, his jaw clenched. He was hot, wound up, and could not meet his wife’s eyes as he stalked back to his desk.
He dropped into his chair and opened the invitation, reading it quickly.
“We have been invited to a masquerade ball,” he announced.
He didn’t see how Eleanor’s face lit up, but he continued anyway.
“However, before that, we have been invited to more events. They are all in London.”
“Well, not many people hide away in their country estates for the Season,” Eleanor commented smartly.
