Page 35 of Her Duke in Shining Armor
“If things go right, he will be discharged today,” Aaron said. “You left home without a morsel of food, aren’t you hungry?”
Her blue eye slid to his, admittedly with humor and not exasperation, “What is it about you and feeding me?”
“Guilty,” Aaron replied. “I was trained to be a gentleman and look out for others before myself. Please tell me if you do get hungry—I’ll send my driver out to get some food.”
“You will not let up on it will you?” she sighed.
“No,” Aaron said and then, daringly, he rested his hand on top of hers. “Thank you for coming with me. Admittedly I had my doubts but I see now that Lady Darcy truly found herself a friend.”
His expectation was for her to drag her hand away from his the moment he had touched her, but to his delight, she did not move right away. In fact, she did not move away at all. Aaron met her eyes briefly, but they skittered away in the next moment—but overall, her hand had not moved.
“My Lady?” Miss Malcolm’s voice was not a welcomed distraction for Aaron, who had hoped to prolong the touch. She quickly retracted her hand from under his and turned to face her chaperone. He clenched his fist to stay the lingering warmth of her skin on his and greeted the lady.
“Miss Malcolm,” he nodded.
She curtsied, “Your Grace.”
In her hand was a picnic basket and instantly Aaron’s vision of buying her food evaporated in thin air. It made sense that she would rather eat food from home than a bun from a wooden cart that most likely was as dense as a rock.
“My Lady, would you like to eat?” Miss Malcolm asked.
Lady Eleanor lifted the lid of the basket and just as Aaron’s spirit plummeted. But, just as he was expecting her to say yes, she shook her head and dropped the lid. “I am not in the mood for meat pies, Miss Malcolm… Your Grace, I might take you up on your offer.”
Aaron marshaled his surprise, “What would you like?”
“Sweet buns and warm milk with honey,” she said before a soft red hue dusted her cheeks. “That is if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” he replied. “I might even have that myself. Lady Darcy, Wilcox, anything for you?”
“Whatever you can find that is better than the da—drattedpottage they serve here would be ambrosia to me,” the injured man ended after his amended curse.
“Just warm milk for me too,” Darcy replied.
Aaron bowed, “I will be back soon.”
Leaving the room, he noted a jaunt in his step. Was Lady Eleanor coming around then? She had not dragged her hand away, had accepted his offer and the blush on her face was beguiling. She was finally opening up.
* * *
She had lied.
Well, actually she had omitted some information and had not truly lied. Looking into her cup of tea that night, Eleanor sighed, why had she deceived the Duke of Oberton about the food Miss Malcolm had brought? Warm roll and preserves with a few fragrant tarts rested in the basket and yes, meat pies were there but…she had still taken the Duke up on his offer.
Moreover, why had she not moved her hand from under the Duke’s?His hand was warm and mine was cold.Why was his hand there in the first place?He was thanking me for coming to see Darcy.Why were his palms rough and callused?He probably handles a sword.
Why had she refused the food Miss Malcolm had come with?Because I prefer warm sweet confections than semi-warm rolls and fruit.Why had she forced herself to look away when their eyes had met?His green eyes had shifted from bright emerald to deep verdant and the hues between. It was pretty.But the most troubling one was that she knew the answer to the last question, why had her stomach both flipped and sunk after meeting his eyes?
It is attraction…but where did it come from? I’ve been nothing but nasty to him. How can I like him?
Many would say that dogging the issue would steal the mystery out of it. It was clinical and left nothing to the imagination but she was not a romantic by any means and did not aim to be one in the future, so she prodded, picked apart and analyzed.
Two hours to midnight, a cold cup in her hand and no concrete answer, she went off to bed. Hoping that the day would be lost in her memory. Sadly, receiving a bouquet of pale blue hydrangeas from the Duke of Oberton the next day said differently.
A soft, silly smile began to tug at her lips before she realized it and directed a random maid to find a vase so she could put them in water. While the maid was off, Eleanor traced the soft silky petals and felt an old urge present itself: the urge to garden.
It was one of the few pleasures her mother had claimed for herself back in Brisdane and whenever she had a moment away from her husband’s too watchful eye, she had taken Eleanor to a square of land inside the official garden that only she cultivated.
“An oasis of peace hiding in plain sight” Elizabeth had said over her shoulder.
