Page 23 of In Scandal with the Duke
“No.”
“My life is too humdrum,” she muttered irritably. “Nothing thrilling ever happens.”
James smiled, helping her into the carriage. The carriage lantern was brightly lit, the golden glow caressing over her face almost lovingly. His damn heart lurched. Elizabeth appeared delightfully flushed, her eyes soft and luminous, her cheeks rosy … and in her eyes … there was a spark of awareness. “Where do we go, Your Grace?”
“I am taking you to your brother’s home.”
“Thank you.” She tucked a wisp of hair away, a small frown pleating her brows. “I do not think I want to see my aunt for the next couple of days.”
As the carriage began to move, Elizabeth leaned back against the plush seat. A misstep in her attempt to find a comfortable position caused her to stumble slightly, eliciting a laugh from her lips, which was quickly cut off by another hiccup.
“I am never drinking whisky again,” she said, a blush creeping across her cheeks from the mild embarrassment. “I feel out of sorts.”
Without a second thought, he lifted her gently into his arms, intending to make her more comfortable. Elizabeth did not resist, once again snuggling into his embrace, her body relaxing as if she felt entirely safe in his hold. She was soft and pliant, her fragrance invading his senses, pushing his heart to beat much faster than he wanted. Her eyes fluttered closed, and within moments, she had fallen asleep against his chest.
“Bloody hell,” James whispered under his breath, a mix of concern and bewilderment coloring his tone.
The carriage rolled quietly through the streets, and he held her carefully, ensuring not to disturb her sleep. As they arrived at her brother’s residence, James instructed the coachman to wait. Given Brandon’s usual activities, he should be at his office at these hours, or at the home of his lover. Carefully, James carried Elizabeth to the door, his mind racing with thoughts about the implications of arriving with her in his arms.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured.
Her lashes fluttered open, and beautiful blue eyes ensnared him. What were these feelings as if he was being sucked under? He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. “We are at your brother’s home.”
An impish smile curved her mouth. “I will sneak inside.”
Setting her down, James ensured she was steady on her feet. She walked around to the servants’ entrance with surprise stealth. He suspected the lady was intimately familiar with slipping in and out of a townhouse.
Assuring her safety, he went with her, and she tossed him a teasing smile. “Do you mean to sneak inside with me, James?”
“No. I only mean to assure you enter without mishap.”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth smiled, opened the door and darted inside. Assured that she was safely at home, he returned to his carriage, replaying their interactions, her trust in him, and his unexpected reaction to her vulnerability.
You are refreshingly different, Elizabeth Armstrong. James leaned his head against the squabs, wondering what to do about this particular interest that had pierced his indifference with such ease.
* * *
The following morning,Elizabeth bit into her toast, the sweet tartness of the strawberry preserves barely registering as she sat at the breakfast table surrounded by her family. The lively conversation buzzed around her, full of the trivialities and gossip that her aunt, mother, and brother relished, yet she found herself disconnected, merely nodding and offering the occasional smile rather than partaking fully. She was only present because her brother had pleaded with her earlier to return to her aunt’s residence and mend their argument.
“It cannot be mended,” Elizabeth had cried. “She was thoughtless and inconsiderate of the hopes I have for my future, yet Aunt insists that she did this for me!”
“Please, Bette, we are a family. It is best to confront it head-on instead of avoidance.”
Those words were a frequent lesson from their father, and it was for that reason she relented. Her mother and aunt had been surprised when she arrived with Brandon, believing she had run from last night’s ball and was in her room. Her aunt’s husband, typically a central figure in these morning discussions, had gone riding earlier and had not yet returned, which left the others to fill the conversational void with even more enthusiasm than usual. Elizabeth understood their intentions. It was their way of not addressing the issues at hand. Her mother glanced at her occasionally with deep concern in her eyes but did not mention what Aunt Sally did.
The viscountess chatted animatedly about the lateston-ditsfrom the social whirl of London, each piece of gossip more trivial or scandalous than the last.
The memory of last night’s encounter with the Duke of Basil hovered at the edges of Elizabeth’s thoughts, intrusive and disquieting. Their dance had been unexpected and thrilling, yet it was their private conversation in the garden that haunted her. The snatches of memory were torturous. One moment, she felt a flutter of excitement at the remembered touch of his hand; the next, a pang of apprehension about what he thought about her behavior.
What is this?
My cock.
Why is it so hard and thick?
Elizabeth suppressed a groan of mortification.I had my fingers around it; oh, what was I thinking?I will never drink whisky again … at least with the duke!
“What did you have your fingers around, dear?” her mother asked.
