Page 9 of Seven Days with her Duke (Hearts of Whitmores #3)

CHAPTER 9

A fter the first race segment had completed itself, Dominic took Eleanor on his arm to parade about amongst the other beau monde attendees so they might refresh themselves.

Or so he thought. He wasn’t quite certain if Eleanor was feeling refreshed judging by the way she gnawed on her bottom lip.

“Come now,” he attempted to nudge her. “Are you going to let everyone else win?”

“Pardon?” She looked up with an unfocused gaze. If anything, her frown deepened in his direction.

Not to be put out just yet, Dominic skirted them around a few folks. Polite nods were given and that was all. He returned his gaze to Eleanor as he explained, “Letting everyone affect you and put you out of sorts to ruin your day is letting them win. You should enjoy yourself, my darling.”

“You shouldn’t call me such an endearment.”

“Then smile. Not for me, but for yourself, because I know how much you adore the horses,” he added when she sent him a look.

Eleanor didn’t like being told what to do, though she played very good at obedience much of the time. But if there was anyone she might be willing to do battle with, it would be him. He hoped. And that made him hope he could in turn convince her that there was still good cheer to be had.

“I don’t believe it’s a contest, Dominic,” she murmured. He felt her pause, realizing she’d said his name. She treated it like a petty crime when he adored the naughty slip. “I don’t know how to…”

“Smile?”

“I can smile, but I cannot…” she searched for the words before shaking her head. “I cannot join them. I cannot speak back to them or argue or make such remarks that would surely silence them with their looks and their words. Whatever you can do, I cannot.”

He saw no concern there. “Then you’re very fortunate I am here for you, are you not? Use me to your advantage. Set me on them like a rabid dog.” A smirk slipped over his lips when she couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea. “Eleanor, truly. Today is a beautiful day and you’re attending a horse race. One you cared enough about to come fetch me when I made the dastardly mistake of forgetting about, so take the prize and enjoy yourself today. Here, you’ve had lemonade and macaroons. You’ve seen the horses and you have a very fashionable and somewhat wicked duke on your arm.” He ignored the roll of her eyes. “What more do you desire?”

“When you say such things, I suppose I should be content with what I have,” she mused.

Shaking his head, Dominic said, “it’s clearly not enough. You need more, Eleanor. Deserve it. What would you have? Another treat? A bet?”

That garnered her attention. “Oh, might I?”

He tsked. “So you are a gambling lady. I should have known.”

“I believe I know who may win next.” She spoke with more certainty right then compared to anything else she might have said all day. When she saw his raised eyebrow, she steered them neatly back in the direction of the tents. “Lover’s Morn has a torn tendon, remember? He cannot win again.”

“That doesn’t mean the second fastest horse of the last race will be the next winner,” he noted.

It was her turn to tsk. “Certainly not. Poseidon was a fluke on a good driver who will not be able to do it again; he’s too young.” And on she prattled, listing off every name and more about every horse they’d watched thus far.

Remarkable lady, what a memory and intriguing mind she has inside that pretty head. What good fortune I have to have her all to myself today. If only the gentlemen had half a clue about her…

Women weren’t supposed to gamble. There may have been a law or two involved, he didn’t particularly know or care. They wouldn’t take her money––but they took his and he made the bet for her on a surprising fifth-place horse, expecting as well the third-place horse would come in a close second from the last race they’d watched.

“I’m utterly famished,” he teased afterward. “Let us find ourselves a treat before we take our seats again, shall we?”

“You bought all the macaroons,” she reminded him.

“And they’re all gone, so we must have us more. They are sweet, you know. I’ll need something tepid. Scones, perhaps.”

Eleanor made a small sound at his side, and he noted the way she stepped just a little closer as they joined the party under the tent of this new vendor. “I wouldn’t call scones tepid.”

“Not to their faces, perhaps.”

“Where would their faces even be?”

He grinned at the ability to make her ask such a silly question. When she saw his expression, she gave a shake of her head and made to turn away. Not a chance. He held her close as she would have him while he purchased them some steamed buns filled with honey-drenched nuts and another with meat and cheese.

Only then did Dominic let them return to their seats, nodding to Lord Reginald and the other party members. Eleanor took her chair and sat on the edge, her spine straight and her attention rapt as the announcer came out. The other race would begin.

“Bun?” he offered her.

She gave a shake of her head. “Not now, Your Grace.”

And we were doing so well.

He ate quietly as the announcer hastened off the field. Eleanor grasped the railing in front of them when the shot sounded. The crowd cheered madly all around them. Gates sprang open. And out came the horses in a mad, colorful dash across the field.

Eyes dropping to her chest, Dominic wasn’t entirely certain that she was breathing. Not until she let out a sudden squeal that made him nearly drop the bun.

“Are you––”

“He’s doing it!” she shouted with unabashed cheer. “Goodness gracious, look at those legs.” Dominic set his food aside to look out, mildly curious. But her words kept his attention. “Oh, how beautiful he is. Look at that form! He’s perfect! Go, Dash, go!”

It appeared Eleanor had done right by them. Midnight Dash was a young black horse with a single white stocking of fair breeding but nothing spectacular. The eyes, Eleanor insisted, told her so along with the rest of his form.

“And there he goes, Midnight Dash in the lead for this race. What a surprise! No one could have predicted such a glorious finish there with two full strides from any other horse. And behind him comes Chief Mustang! Here come the rest!”

“Oh!” Eleanor cried out in glee, clapping her hands. She hopped up and down as she watched the field.

Joy rippled through her like sunshine in a meadow, and he found himself rising with the need to be just a little closer to bask in her warmth. His lips spread into a grin of its own as he admired her. Such joy was infectious. He laughed as she beamed, clasping his hands.

“I told you,” she told him with her chin up.

“You certainly did,” he had to agree.

There was no taking his eyes off of Eleanor as she smiled so wide. Something told him she’d had little cause for it in some time. His heart ached; he knew about her losses. He remembered the letter from her brother, how he had spoke of the pain of losing his father and brother. Even Eleanor had written to him. Thinking about it always made his heart ache.

Now, her smile did the same, but in a way that felt like it was breaking apart a thin shell to reveal something better. No matter how Eleanor protected herself, he could see the truth of her on the inside.

What an admirable young lady she has become. Even with her shy nature, she’s incredibly expression and full of life. She carries such passion with her.

Just as he was thinking of a way to share his thoughts with her, to share the joy, Eleanor pulled her hands from him.

She bit her lip like she wished to hide her smile. Though he kept the smile on his face, hoping she would look back up, Eleanor had dropped her gaze. He reached for her only to watch her abruptly sit back in her chair; crossing her ankles and setting her hands in her lap, she grew so still it was as though she’d never even laughed or hopped a second ago.

“Eleanor.”

A quiet snort escaped her. She hunched her shoulders and hastily covered her mouth with a hand. As her cheeks flushed, he took a seat, and he had the joy of hearing a muffled chuckle.

“I fear I was rather loud,” she whispered to him.

He shrugged, sitting down in his chair while carefully moving it just an inch closer to her. “It’s a horse race, darling. I would expect you to be loud here. That’s part of the fun.”

Now she looked at him. Cheeks flushed, she seemed to take in all of his face. Her eyes looked every inch of him over before meeting his gaze only a moment so she could glance away. “Perhaps,” she managed.

Moving to the edge of his seat, he asked, “And do you know what else is fun?”

“What, Your Grace?”

He put out a hand. “Collecting your winnings.”