Page 20

Chapter Fifteen

“ I thought I told you to stay out of my business,” Spencer sighed as Eleanor entered his study the following afternoon with another dessert.

This time, the scent of lemon peel rose from the plate of buns.

“I am staying out of it,” she insisted. “I am simply bringing you dessert.”

“And yet your eyes wander to my desk,” he pointed out.

“And yours wander to my buns.”

His head snapped up, and his eyes widened. He was not sure whether she had made a joke or if his mind was simply filthy.

She smirked at him, setting down the tray next to the document he was reading.

Spencer cleared his throat, ignoring her jab, the way she got under his skin.

“You have delivered dessert,” he said. “You may now leave.”

“It is true!” Eleanor exclaimed, her eyes scanning the document before he could snatch it away.

Spencer tried not to ignore how her bodice pushed up her chest, how low her neckline was, and how her chest had become fuller since she moved to Everdawn.

He averted his gaze, swallowing, but she leaned down, and he found his attention straying back to her curves. He reached for the glass of brandy he’d been nursing and drained it.

“Jack Renshaw is Sister Martha’s brother.”

“Eleanor,” he warned, but she was already picking up the document, pacing alongside his desk as she read it, her eyes wide and bright.

He made an annoyed sound and tried to snatch it from her, but she moved back, scowling at him, and continued reading it.

“I have worked quite discreetly to get this information. Do not go shouting about it now. It is none of your business.”

“Oh, I believe it is. I can help.”

“No, you can be safe and away from this whole mess.”

“I-I can be of most help now. I can write to Sister Martha?—”

“No,” he growled. “No, you will?—”

“ Yes ,” she hissed, cutting him off. “I have gardened and I have baked, yet I remain restless while you get to investigate the very man who schemed to ruined me and was the catalyst in sending me to that awful place. Do you not think I deserve to get some justice? That I do not wish to sit back like a damsel waiting to be saved? I cannot do as much as you, I understand that, for I am limited with how and where I can be seen and speak with, but I can do something. ”

She stopped, putting the document back on his desk.

Those brilliant brown eyes met his, and he was entranced by them for a moment. His body responded to her insistence, to the way she riled him up so quickly. Her defiance made him ache to teach her obedience.

He pushed away those dark thoughts—for they were nothing but fantasies he wouldn’t indulge in—and focused on the woman standing before him. Not the woman he imagined astride him, her wrists clasped in his hands, pinned behind her back.

Heavens .

He exhaled heavily. He blamed Theodore and his foolish comments for his inability to wrangle his thoughts about his wife into something proper.

Yes, Theodore was to blame. Definitely not Spencer’s lack of self-control when he had kissed her. Definitely not how she had sounded, or how her nails had scratched his scalp lightly when she tangled her fingers in his hair.

“You deserve justice,” he told her. “You deserve it greatly, but not at the risk of your own safety.”

“I am tired of that argument. I will write to Sister Martha for more information. I-I can claim that her decision to let me go has reformed me, that marriage has cleansed my soul and that I have found God through matrimony. I can claim I have a troubled cousin who needs a… reprieve.”

“She will never fall for it. She is smart.”

“She is foolhardy and will give favor to anybody who praises her work,” Eleanor countered. “I know her. If she thinks she is helping someone find God, then she will allow the past to be water under the bridge and believe any lies I tell her.”

“I do not think that is a good idea. What if your letter falls into the wrong hands?”

“You will only send the letter with somebody you trust implicitly.”

He did not expect her to respond so quickly, so firmly, knowing she was right. But he still shook his head. “No, no I cannot?—”

“Let me,” she begged.

“Eleanor,” he sighed, his voice rough and curling around her name.

“Spencer.”

He went still at that. He had used her name many times, but she had yet to say his, and he was not prepared for how it made him feel.

Eleanor froze. “I-I should not have?—”

“Say it again,” he demanded, even though he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

His grip on his self-control was failing, and she had no idea the power she had over him.

He stood up at her silence and crossed toward her with several, long strides, stopping mere inches from her.

Her hands… they were not soft like the ones of a proper lady who had only known the touch of a quill or the smooth keys of a pianoforte.

They were rough, slightly calloused. They had tended to gardens, and had likely sustained injuries from tools and stings from nettles and other thorned plants and flowers.

They may have sustained burns from baking.

Her hands would have told her story if she had been silenced. And yet she still raised those hands to his chest, surprising him.

He stepped forward, giving her no choice but to move backward. Brown eyes as dark as his morning coffee never left his own.

She blinked at him, her teeth catching her lower lip.

“Say my name again, Eleanor.”

He felt a small tremor rush through her as he lowered his voice. He dipped his head and let his mouth hover an inch above her cheek.

The scent of jasmine rose from her skin, and he swallowed back a groan at how it intoxicated him, filled his senses and stole every rational thought. He had a thousand things to do, and yet he could not make himself move away.

“Spencer.” His name fell from her lips like a prayer, and he wanted to kiss it off her tongue.

He wanted to chase the heat she ignited in his blood. He wanted to know if she felt that same heat. He wanted to kiss her again, awkwardness be damned. He wanted to know how she tasted everywhere.

His breath caught as he brushed his nose against hers. “Eleanor,” he murmured.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting as if awaiting his kiss. But then the door opened so quickly that he barely had time to pull away from her.

His butler stood at the threshold, looking uncertain and slightly flustered.

I should not have given him leave to enter without permission .

“An invitation has arrived for you, Your Graces.” The butler bowed. “Forgive the interruption.”

Spencer cleared his throat and snatched the proffered letter before dismissing him, his jaw clenched. He was hot, wound up, and could not meet his wife’s eyes as he stalked back to his desk.

He dropped into his chair and opened the invitation, reading it quickly.

“We have been invited to a masquerade ball,” he announced.

He didn’t see how Eleanor’s face lit up, but he continued anyway.

“However, before that, we have been invited to more events. They are all in London.”

“Well, not many people hide away in their country estates for the Season,” Eleanor commented smartly.

He finally looked up, if only to glower at her. But after a moment’s consideration, he nodded once. “We will move to the townhouse, then. Be ready to leave before nightfall.”

“That soon?”

“Indeed. We can keep up appearances. After all, my wife should familiarize herself with all the estates I own. And why not indulge in the high life again, on your husband’s arm?

” Spencer paused, cocked his head, and smiled.

“And while we are there, I may introduce you to someone who has been pestering to meet you. If only to get him off my back.”

“Is this someone your mysterious friend, Lord Avington?”

He nodded, remembering Theodore’s pleas for an introduction.

“Will Charlotte be there?” Eleanor asked.

Spencer hesitated. “No. And do not ask again where she is.”

“I was not going to. I only wanted to know.”

“She won’t be there. I will have a hard enough time keeping you safe while in direct view of the ton.

You do understand that while this will be a good chance for me to investigate and make more connections, it also puts you in more danger.

I need you to be more vigilant. Do not go anywhere without me unless I know where you are and who you are with.

It is not to control you, Eleanor. It is?—”

“I know,” she said quietly, nodding. “I understand.”

Her quick acquiescence surprised him, and he nodded back.

But then, as she made to leave his study, she tossed a smirk over her shoulder. “And I do hope that my very doting, romantic husband will be on his best behavior. Perhaps we might find a way to… pick up where we had left off.”

Before he could reprimand her for teasing him, she was gone. He chafed at the way her smirk and tone left him feeling.

He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore how she affected him.

How she could be so quiet and reserved, but outspoken when she wanted to rile him up…

Spencer shook his head. His Duchess might as well be the death of him.

Everdawn House was not the sprawling, autumnal residence that Everdawn Hall was, but it was equally beautiful.

“And are our chambers connected in this residence, too?” Eleanor asked cheekily.

She had found that each time they grew closer, she felt more daring. And she rather liked it.

It felt like finding her feet, like finding the woman she had buried beneath the scared girl who had barely survived the convent.

Spencer paused in the hallway, glancing at her. “Why? Do you want them to be?”

Eleanor fell silent, having not expected that.

Spencer smirked, turning to corner her against the wall. “What possessed you to ask such a thing?”

“I am merely curious.”

I have wanted you to kiss me again since that first moment in the drawing room.

“You have yet to use the connecting door in Everdawn Hall,” he reminded her.

His voice was pitched low, and she could not help the ache building between her legs every time he spoke to her in such an intimate tone.