Page 6 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
“The Countess of Maplewood?” the man echoed.
Eleanor had always prided herself on being an honest woman. Lying had never been her strongest suit, but now she had to lie as though her life depended on it.
Perhaps it did.
She had never trusted men very much, and she did not trust this handsome stranger with eyes the color of coffee speckled with honey.
“Yes,” she lied.
All she could think about was how awful she must have looked—unkempt and disheveled. Thank Heavens her knees were covered.
“And how dare you question me, when I am a guest! What areyoudoing here? Are you hiding away? Perhaps I should askyouwho you are and what you are doing here.”
“By all means,” the stranger drawled, arching an eyebrow.
She had the sense she was being toyed with, but perhaps she could use him to learn Charlotte’s whereabouts. That was the important part.
Even if… even if this man was beautiful to look at and she had a hard time tearing her eyes away from him.
“Who are you?” she pressed, lifting her chin, looking down her nose at him even though she was much smaller than him.
“I am from Oakwood,” he began, his eyes dancing with mirth as he gazed at her. “It is next door to Maplewood. Surely you have heard of it.”
“Of course I have,” she sniffed. “After all, I am the Countess.”
“Indeed. And is Maplewood nearby?”
“Yes.”
“How far away?”
“A day’s ride.”
“Heavens, you must really be an honored guest, then, to travel so far. You cannot be expected to leave right after the party.”
“I-I am staying overnight,” she fibbed, trying to keep up with his questions.
“Oh, undoubtedly.” He nodded firmly, clasping his hands behind his back as he stepped closer to her. “In the autumnalwing, I assume? Lady Charlotte must have mentioned that is where you will be staying if you areherguest.”
“Yes,” Eleanor said. It made sense, given the scenery, if the wings were themed after the seasons. “The… the autumnal wing.”
“Your bags must already be in there, yes?”
“Of course. I arrived a while ago.”
“And yet you are not dressed for the party,” the stranger noted, his gaze assessing every inch of her.
Eleanor’s face flushed a warm red, and she averted her gaze.
“Perhaps you will be wearing red.”
“Red?”
“To honor your homestead.”
“Oh!” She let out a nervous laugh. “Of course.”
“Remind me. Where is Lord Maplewood?”
