Page 43 of Her Duke in Shining Armor
He felt a twinge of envy—unlike him, they had not a care in the world.
“Eh, rest easy, Your Grace,” Harding replied. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
The Duke felt it redundant to point out it was two in the morning and went to the carriage Harding pointed him to. Giving over the directions to his townhome, Aaron pressed his hands to his stinging eyes. His fist struck the seat and he slumped over, there was no way he was going to get Wyndrake now.
* * *
Signing the card, Eleanor bade farewell to the footman she had just sent off to the Duke’s townhouse and then went back to her morning newspaper. She did not openly acknowledge how her heart began thumping with the anxiety of not knowing how the card would be received. She hated not knowing where she stood with Aaron and had decided to get it all out in the open.
If he had nothing but contempt for her, she could deal with that and find some way to exorcise these silly feelings she had for him. Knowing where she stood with him could move her from limbo into action. It was clinical but that was the only thing she knew how to do.
When reading became repetitive, she went to play the pianoforte and then when her fingers started dancing randomly, she went to the garden to let nature calm her nerves. All morning, she’d been as restless as a willow in a rainstorm—now it was afternoon and worry was eating at her.
Her mind kept running over to the Duke and wondering why there was no reply. As time ticked away, she was getting the ominous feeling that he had already dismissed her request to see him. When the hour ticked to three, she gave up hope—at least she knew where he stood then.
She was halfway in penning a letter to Darcy when a maid knocked her sitting room door. “Yes?”
“A note from the Duke of Oberton, My Lady,” she said and instantly, Eleanor’s heartbeat hiccupped.
“Thank you,” she said while holding her hand out for the note.
Dipping her eyes to the note she read the slashing handwriting, “I apologize for the delay. You are free to see me this evening, Lady Eleanor Stanley.”
Casually, she sent for Miss Malcolm to be ready and went to her room to change. She stared into the wardrobe and for the first time in her life felt lost. It was strange how she suddenly considered how Aaron would perceive her. It was an alien, silly, and juvenile feeling, something much more appropriate for a girl barely out of the schoolroom than a grown woman such as herself, but it still niggled at her.
* * *
Aaron had the devil of time waking up that day. After arriving at home at nearly the witching hour, Aaron had passed another forty-five minutes nursing a glass of whiskey that was too smooth for his liking—for his mood, it should be as harsh as paint remover—and mourning how he had failed Julius.
It had been near dawn when he went to bed and woke up sometime near one in the afternoon with a beastly headache and upset stomach. His cook had drafted an even beastlier cure for his maladies and after the River Thames had stopped spewing from his stomach, had sent up some light fare to give him some sustenance.
When his butler had told him that Lady Eleanor had sent a card requesting to see him that day, he had forced himself to sober up completely before sending her a reply. Now smartly dressed in a deep-olive waistcoat, cravat, and beige trousers, he waived the jacket while hoping that Eleanor would not be scandalized by shirtsleeves.
He got to the stairs and halfway down, he stopped. Surely,surelythat was not Eleanor? The beautiful woman with perfect alabaster skin and deep auburn curls that stood at the foot of his staircase had to be an angel in disguise. Her slender body was clothed in an evening dress of fine, deep-blue muslin with simple but elegant trimming at the edges. He paused to admire the arch of her swan-like neck and the same opal jewels dangling from her ears. Was she going to a ball he did not know about?
“Lady Eleanor,” he greeted while descending the stairs. “What extraordinary event would cause you to leave your throne to pander to us low mortals?”
“At least you know your place,” she replied instantly before blushing furiously, “Um, pardon me.”
He did not censure his laugh, “I am not offended, at least I know your spark is there. Miss Malcolm, good day to you. May I escort you to the sitting room?”
“Thank you,” she said while taking his offered arm. “I must say, your home is very masculine. I don’t perceive a bright color anywhere.”
Aaron instantly felt concerned, was Eleanor attempting small talk? That was odd of her. The sitting room was a large space made with small alcoves at the window where a reader could sit. In the large room itself, there was simple chandelier up ahead, matching winged armchairs, and a chaise lounge that circled a medium claw-footed coffee table. He released her arm and she sat with an elegant smooth of her skirts under her.
“As honored as I am Lady Eleanor,” Aaron spoke softly as he took his place and crossed his legs. “I still do not know why you are here.”
He was more mystified when Eleanor looked at her chaperone and she curtsied out. That was strange. Eleanor then stood and went to the nearest alcove and turned her back to him. Now Aaron was dutifully alarmed—what was going on? In concern, he stood and followed her.
“Lady Eleanor?”
“I asked Miss Malcolm to leave because I have something of a sensitive nature to discuss with you,” she openly gasped for breath. “It is inappropriate, yes, but I couldn’t bear having her overhear me. Do you really believe what you said in Lady Darcy’s garden is true…that I dissuade people for approaching me?”
Before he replied, Aaron looked over his shoulder to make sure there were no spying ears around. With no one there he felt comfortable enough to answer her though he feared she would not like his words.
“I believe that beneath your fierce independence and defiance of our culture, there is part of you that is keeping you away from one basic need of the human race, which is the need for contact. And from what you told me about the coldness in your house and how you used books as your company growing up, I realized you fear contact because you don’t know it. The two times I have held you, you grip me strongly, it is as if you have not felt closeness in years and there is this look in your eye…a craving. Admit it, Eleanor,” Aaron said softly. “You’re starved for affection.”
“I am not,” she said while spinning around. The vehemence of her argument was betrayed by the tale-telling of her cheeks flushing a pretty red. “If you dare think that I am one of those ninnies who constantly dreams of a golden prince and a knight in shining armor to—”
