Page 6 of Seven Days with her Duke (Hearts of Whitmores #3)

CHAPTER 6

W hen Dominic couldn’t find a way to sleep through the night, he found a bottle of brandy and went to drink out on his terrace.

His valet found him squinting at the sun, and convinced him to retire for a few short hours before a bath and a tray of food and cool tea were brought to refresh him. It was more than Dominic needed. He was entirely out of sorts and was grateful for a distraction, no matter how slight it was.

Then more distractions were provided as he found his study once again a cluttered space of letters and books. He needed a third secretary, he supposed, as a duke with too many land holdings and assorted responsibilities. He didn’t care for much of this.

“It was never supposed to be mine,” he mused, tracing his late brother’s signature over an old land agreement. They had to be updated every five years and now the time had come for him to sign such agreements.

A bitter taste settled in his mouth. He needed to clear away the headache from the drinking and sought only peppermint tea and light scones for the afternoon. It should have been enough.

And yet he still reached the Whitmore Manor early.

For all of Dominic’s intents to put Eleanor from his mind, he could hardly escape the young lady. He couldn’t stop considering what a dangerous position she had put herself into the prior evening. Upon his return home, he’d sent off two footmen to seek out any rumors that might arise through the evening about Eleanor and Wilmington.

Nothing yet.

And it never will if the viscount wants to keep his head.

Such a violent thought, he mused with morbid curiosity, for a man more given to playful mannerisms and charm. He had rarely been considered serious over the years. He didn’t like the feeling. It was too heavy with obligations he had hoped to stay clear from. After all, his brother had always been a hale and hearty fellow. Leonard had good luck from his first day of life. It had served him well until the day before the accident.

Shaking the memory from his mind, Dominic paced a step about the house before going up to knock on it with his gloved knuckles. The handle was removed as though to tell the city no one was at home.

But she would be here.

If she was to leave the house again, he intended to be there. And he would hound her every step of the way to ensure no one else could lay their hands on Eleanor. Already Dominic had half a mind to keep her from dancing with anyone else or riding with anyone else or––

Blast it. I cannot keep her. What am I thinking? She will find someone well suited to her. Nicholas would want that for his sister. And not every man is like Wilmington. And yet… one can never be too certain.

“Welcome, Your Grace.” Wordlesby must have been busy as it was an unfamiliar young footman who opened the door. He hesitated, glancing about, before allowing him entrance. “Shall I bring Lady Eleanor to you? I believe she is not yet ready for tonight’s affair.”

Ignoring the man’s clumsy speech, Dominic shook his head. “I know I’m early.”

Two hours early by his pocket watch. But he was determined to keep her close and safe no matter the cost. It wasn’t like he was going to get through much of his work either with his thoughts on her.

He kept picturing Wilmington there and hearing Eleanor’s panicked voice. It wasn’t something a sane man could bear. The urge to run to her rescue kept replaying through his mind, leaving him on his toes. He didn’t know what to do with himself now besides be near Eleanor.

At least when he was with her, he knew who he was. It might not have been his best self, but it brought a certain measure of comfort.

“Where might I find the lady?” Dominic handed over his hat.

The footman hesitated. “She’s not yet ready, I believe. She may be in the sitting room, but I don’t think––”

“Nonsense. Fear not, I know my way.” He’d stayed here twice with Nicholas during a short summer stint between their university days, quickly learning why it wasn’t worth being in the city on such hot muggy days. “I can seek her out just fine on my own.”

It wasn’t a house that her family spent a lot of time in, if he recalled, before the last duke and heir passed. Nicholas and his siblings had always preferred living out in the country. In truth, seeing Eleanor here had been a surprise to Dominic.

Her quiet nature––no matter how fierce she might be––had always felt more at home there. There was more space for someone like her there to do as she liked. To thrive. She had never hosted anything before and he’d always imagined her married off to a squire or vicar or some such where she would never find herself in the filthy and crowded streets of London.

But I cannot regret seeing her once again here.

Not a single ounce of Dominic was surprised about how easy it was to find her. Eleanor never hid. Though Nicholas used to tease she was always avoiding people, that wasn’t the case. Rather, she was focused on where she wished most to be.

It was the humming.

Knowing her voice anywhere, he trailed through to a room the footman had not pointed to, and found her in an attached parlor to the dining room. The door was cracked open. A large window behind her, next to a beautiful piano, sat nearby untouched.

The only real surprise compared to what she was doing: dancing.

A smile crossed his lips without thinking. Slipping inside, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall to watch her.

Whomever thought to call Eleanor plain was a fool. While she wasn’t the most typically beauty, he could agree, but it was there. She was there. Beautiful in a simplistic and dark way. Nicholas had said they had an Italian or Spaniard in the mix. They would have helped contribute to the family’s thick black hair. Eleanor’s was a shade lighter than her brother, but her eyes were darker.

“You have black eyes. Are you certain they are not coal?” Dominic had teased her once.

To his surprise, she had begun to cry. “They are not coal! I don’t have coal for eyes. They are not rocks, I tell you!”

“Coal isn’t rocks,” he had felt the need to say at the time until Nicholas was there to reassure her and nudge her out of the way of whatever game they had been playing. “I was only teasing, Ellie!”

“Teasing isn’t teasing if it’s mean!”

Even then, she’d had spirit. He remembered her father had been passing then and his eyes had been so surprised at hearing Eleanor shout. She’d immediately caught herself and murmured her apologies for racing off with her head ducked down.

Teasing isn’t teasing if it’s mean. Clever little girl. She always knew more than what she should have known. She’s always known better than any of us. If only she knew I wasn’t always teasing her to be mean.

Or was it a mean thing, he pondered, to want to see her blush? To see the stars in her eyes?

His thoughts wandered in circles much like her own feet. It was a waltz. An intimidate dance that allowed partners to hold one another in a manner they had not done so five years yet. Places like Almacks’s still didn’t allow for such scandalous forms.

When Eleanor danced, it didn’t appear quite so scandalous. Perhaps because she didn’t have a partner. He tilted his head and wondered who she thought she danced with. Her eyes were unfocused, her head also at an angle. Today, she wore a pale lavender dress. Usually a sad sort of color, he knew, but she wore it so prettily against her skin that there was no denying she belonged in that exact shade.

“Dominic!”

He straightened his expression into an innocent one. “Good afternoon, fair Eleanor.”

“How long have you been here?” Her hands dropped to her sides, her cheeks flushed. She looked even prettier here.

A thought that he became suddenly aware of in a manner that was very unbecoming of a man like him. Coming up off the wall, he left his arms crossed as a barrier. Or to keep himself from touching her. It didn’t matter because he wasn’t going to come any closer.

“Long enough to admire your waltzing skills. I thought tonight was a dinner party?” he inquired, attempting to restrain himself somewhat.

She took a step forward before wavering. “Yes, but it’s at the Reginald house. They always have some dancing afterwards. Nicholas and I greeted them at my ball and they said I’d best prepare for a dance. Since I’m out now, I don’t think I can quite hide behind the pianoforte any longer.”

“You were never hiding.” He came closer, touching the closed instrument that she looked at with longing. “We always saw you.”

A short snicker sounded out of her. “No, you didn’t. No one saw me.”

“Why would you say that?” He watched her take a step in his direction, wondering if she felt the pull he did. It wasn’t something he was even conscious of. Not exactly. He didn’t want to be. Still, he saw her step and took another himself, his smile back on his lips. “And we’ll notice your dancing, too.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say to her. Lips curving into a pout, she shook her head. “I hope not. I’m practicing because I hardly know the waltz. I have done so little with anyone beyond my brothers and my dance instructor. In two balls, I’ve already t-trod over everyone’s toes. If there is d-dancing tonight––I need practice, I d-didn’t expect––”

Closing the distance between them, he wanted to silence her over the stuttering. Eleanor knew better. She had no cause to be nervous. It couldn’t be him that made her anxious, but the dancing.

Dominic reached out a hand and gave her a playful smirk. Just because dancing made her nervous, he reasoned, didn’t mean she would be nervous if he was there. He could make her too distracted to be anxious.

So he tutted and offered a bow. “Then you should have asked, my dear Eleanor. I’d be more than happy to help you with your dance practice. You need a proper rake for that.”

“Oh! I don’t think so,” she started to resist.

Too late, he had her hand. Up they went into the air while he turned the other onto his shoulder before he put that hand on her waist. Dominic heard that intake of breath from Eleanor and forced himself to ignore it. As she struggled to pull herself together, he began humming the same familiar song she had been a minute ago.

“And back you go,” he murmured.

There was a soft exhale as she obeyed. He felt the tension in her body radiating onto him. Her hand tightened on his shoulder. Back she went and then to the side in perfect motion like she had been on her own, a perfect rhythm in tune to his humming.

He didn’t typically sing. In the back of his head, he could hear his mother’s voice encouraging him to sing louder at church on Sundays. But he had been a boy, and he didn’t want to sing.

Now, he hummed and led Eleanor in a graceful set. By the second, she was moving fluidly and gracefully. She looked down several times before steadying her breathing where she might lift her chin. A wonder, that’s what she was. He’d always enjoyed her grounded character and the way she represented such solidity and peace in her family. He had never been one of them, but he was the moth to her flame, always coming to her side.

Like now.

Dominic wasn’t certain how it happened exactly, only that it must have been so slow that he didn’t notice until it was too late. There was a quiet in the air that made the back of his neck tingle; it reminded him of summer storms and fireworks.

He fixed his grasp on Eleanor with the thought that might fix something. Meeting his gaze, something about her eyes told him that she felt this too. Whatever it was. He could hear the pounding in his heart louder than the humming.

Am I still humming?

There was more feeling than thoughts inside him. But he felt himself drawing closer to Eleanor. He hadn’t moved beyond the dancing, but their eyes told another story.

Dominic sensed a certain amount of danger in the air. Thinking he might defuse the situation, he lowered his gaze to find Eleanor’s lips.

It was then he knew for certain that he wasn’t thinking. It wasn’t unconscious. He felt the same sensation like in his dreams that he was still a man dreaming. Here, he was a man dancing––with Eleanor––and he had not a thought in his head.

After all, this could be the only explanation on why he began to lean in closer to her. The world was bending in and curving around them. A poor moth had no choice. Her grace and beauty needed him as he needed her. The soft catch of her breath and the way her chin tilted up in promise. He could smell her scent, rosemary and soap. He wondered if she would taste like that.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

The loud rap broke the spell, reminding Dominic he wasn’t a moth but he was indeed playing with fire. He stepped back as Eleanor hastily did the same. There was a loud gulp, but he couldn’t have guessed which one them did that.

“My lady?” Wordlesby peeked his head in.

“Excuse me,” Eleanor squeaked, not looking at Dominic. She ducked her head to take her leave through the door with the butler.

Neither of them looked back, leaving him all alone in a spacious room in too much silence. His arms slowly fell back down at his side. Slowly, he could hear the beating of his heart again. It thrummed inside his skull. He closed his eyes and began the harshest scolding of his life for himself, wondering just what sort of mistake he had made.

This cannot happen again. If I know nothing else, I can never even think of––I cannot think of Eleanor again.