Page 3

Chapter Two

“ Y ou, there.”

She whirled, stumbling on her weak legs, finding herself at the scrutiny of a stable hand.

Through the darkness of the countryside, Eleanor had found her way to Everdawn Hall.

When she’d arrived at the stables and hopped off her horse, her eyes had to adjust to the lights that illuminated the grand estate. It looked as though it emerged from the redwood trees that surrounded it.

Sprawling and turreted in places, Everdawn looked exactly as Charlotte had always described it.

Except Eleanor had not anticipated how busy it was. Carriages lined up around the estate, and the stables were overrun with workers rushing around to brush down horses and tend to them ahead of departure.

And now, she had to face a stable hand.

She recoiled from him, from the uniform that brought awful memories of her engagement ball and the week after it, the accusations and?—

“Yes,” she managed to say.

“Why are you loitering there? Go! You can’t dawdle on a night like this, whether you lost your assigned group or not. Hurry to the servants’ entrance with the others. We shall not have His Grace look down upon us.”

Eleanor nodded, stumbling out of the stables, confused and dazed. Quickly, she found her way to the indicated servants’ entrance, immediately sneaking in with a group of them, keeping her head down.

She received a few odd looks, but she noticed that some servants wore different uniforms.

Extra help .

Perhaps she would not stand out.

“Everdawn has not seen such an event in a long time,” one servant whispered quietly. “His Grace must be ever so proud of Lady Charlotte.”

“That is if he emerges. He has yet to show his face in the ballroom.”

Hearing her friend’s name made Eleanor straighten and strain her ears. If the Duke hadn’t shown his face yet, that meant no announcement had been made.

Why would Charlotte’s father not show his face at her party?

Eleanor kept her head down and walked on until she could sneak past the servants and break away undetected.

Hurrying to the first door she found, she shut herself inside and pressed her forehead to the smooth wood, trying to catch her breath.

I have escaped the convent .

The realization hit her hard enough to make her move. If she stopped too long, she would lose her nerve. She needed to find Charlotte, to properly figure out a plan.

As she turned to face the room, she was met with the sight of tall bookshelves.

She gravitated toward the nearest shelf. It had been so long since she had read a non-religious text.

She reached out her hand to a book when a harsh voice rang out, making her freeze. “Who are you?”

Eleanor jerked her head around to see a man rising from an armchair.

“What are you doing in here?”

“I—” Her throat went dry as she took in his tall frame, his hair catching the low light of the candles scattered around the library.

She swallowed, her eyes running over his autumnal, russet brown strands. As if, like the estate, he had come from the maple trees. His handsome face caught her off guard, and she fought to find her voice.

She lifted her chin, remembering exactly who she was. The convent had broken her, but they had not stolen her.

“I am a guest of Lady Charlotte’s,” she declared haughtily, eyeing the man who had clearly snuck out of the party. Her heart pounded in her chest as she silently prayed he would buy it. “I am th-the Countess of-of Maplewood.”

She chided herself inwardly for stammering.

“The Countess of Maplewood?” the man echoed.

Eleanor had always prided herself on being an honest woman. Lying had never been her strongest suit, but now she had to lie as though her life depended on it.

Perhaps it did.

She had never trusted men very much, and she did not trust this handsome stranger with eyes the color of coffee speckled with honey.

“Yes,” she lied.

All she could think about was how awful she must have looked—unkempt and disheveled. Thank Heavens her knees were covered.

“And how dare you question me, when I am a guest! What are you doing here? Are you hiding away? Perhaps I should ask you who you are and what you are doing here.”

“By all means,” the stranger drawled, arching an eyebrow.

She had the sense she was being toyed with, but perhaps she could use him to learn Charlotte’s whereabouts. That was the important part.

Even if… even if this man was beautiful to look at and she had a hard time tearing her eyes away from him.

“Who are you?” she pressed, lifting her chin, looking down her nose at him even though she was much smaller than him.

“I am from Oakwood,” he began, his eyes dancing with mirth as he gazed at her. “It is next door to Maplewood. Surely you have heard of it.”

“Of course I have,” she sniffed. “After all, I am the Countess.”

“Indeed. And is Maplewood nearby?”

“Yes.”

“How far away?”

“A day’s ride.”

“Heavens, you must really be an honored guest, then, to travel so far. You cannot be expected to leave right after the party.”

“I-I am staying overnight,” she fibbed, trying to keep up with his questions.

“Oh, undoubtedly.” He nodded firmly, clasping his hands behind his back as he stepped closer to her. “In the autumnal wing, I assume? Lady Charlotte must have mentioned that is where you will be staying if you are her guest.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said. It made sense, given the scenery, if the wings were themed after the seasons. “The… the autumnal wing.”

“Your bags must already be in there, yes?”

“Of course. I arrived a while ago.”

“And yet you are not dressed for the party,” the stranger noted, his gaze assessing every inch of her.

Eleanor’s face flushed a warm red, and she averted her gaze.

“Perhaps you will be wearing red.”

“Red?”

“To honor your homestead.”

“Oh!” She let out a nervous laugh. “Of course.”

“Remind me. Where is Lord Maplewood?”

“Widowed,” she said quickly. “I-I am a widow, I mean.”

“Recently? Given the color of your dress.”

“Six months ago,” she answered, and then cursed herself inwardly.

Even if she was a countess, she would not have returned to Society so soon. Heavens, what had that lonely, isolated life in the convent done to her mind?

“Six months ago,” he mused, and she had the sense that he did not believe a word she said. “You are very brave, then, to face Society so soon. Lady Charlotte must be very accommodating and thoughtful to invite you to her party so soon after your bereavement.”

“Indeed. She is very considerate.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Three days,” she uttered.

“Heavens.” He whistled, looking impressed. “It seems you are outstaying your host.”

As he spoke, a knock sounded at the door.

Eleanor flinched on instinct.

The man took another step toward her, his face still twisted in amusement as he reached around her. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He pulled open the door, giving her no chance to move out of the way.

A maid stood in the hallway, looking at him.

“Yes?” he prompted.

Peculiar .

Why would a maid look for him in here?

“Your Grace, I have more gifts for Lady Charlotte, but she has requested to not be disturbed until the announcement,” the maid relayed.

Eleanor’s eyes widened, her blood running cold.

Your Grace.

She thought back to the servants in the hallway.

“He has yet to show his face in the ballroom…” they had said.

Because he had been hiding out in the library.

Slowly, the man before her— no , not just a man, but the Duke of Everdawn himself, a man she had lied to so blatantly, Charlotte’s brother—dragged his gaze back to her.

A hint of a smile played on his lips. “Have the gifts sent to the autumnal wing.”

“The autumnal wing, Your Grace?”

“Lady Maplewood here should know where it is. After all, she is already settled in her rooms for three days.” He spoke as if it was an inside joke. As if he was teasing her.

Eleanor blushed hotly, hearing only mockery.

The Duke of Everdawn sighed, finally turning back to the maid. “Leave the gifts in my study. I shall give them to my sister later.”

Eleanor wondered what exactly had happened in the last three years. Had she missed the death of Charlotte’s father?

The maid was dismissed, the door to the library closed, and the Duke fixed his eyes on her.

“You may drop your act now, whoever you are,” he commanded.

“Whoever I am?” Eleanor’s voice rose. The last three years had rid her of her rigid politeness, even if fear reminded her to speak properly. “You are the Duke of Everdawn! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“For a liar, you certainly feel quite entitled to the truth.” He raised a brown eyebrow at her.

She was aware of just how little power she had. She had escaped from the convent, snuck into a party she had not been invited to and lied to the host.

“You knew I was lying.”

He nodded once. “I know every town, village, and city from the South to the North of England. I would have heard if a Lord Maplewood died and left behind a widow. Especially if they were my neighbors.”

The casual authority he spoke with made her feel something she had not felt in years—perhaps not ever, for no man had sparked such excitement within her. Such fear .

This was not the fear Lord Belgrave had evoked within her in that chamber hours ago. Nor was it the fear that had seized her heart when Sister Martha raised that evil cane to strike her.

No, this was the fear of…

No. This was different. This was the dizzying, gut-pulling fear of being seen by a man. Desired, perhaps. And wanting him back.

She hated it. And yet she could not stop staring at his mouth.

“You are rather bold for a trespasser,” he murmured, taking a step forward.

Eleanor stiffened.

“Is this where you tell me more lies?” he asked, his voice a little lower, the space between them crackling.

“I’m not here to harm anyone.”

“Mm. No,” he said softly, eyes sweeping down her face. “That’s not what I asked. I can think of far more enjoyable ways to make you surrender the truth. Or more.”

Her heart slammed once, hard. She felt it all through her body—his words, his nearness, the weight of his gaze.

She couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at her like that. Like he saw through her… and wanted her anyway.

But she couldn’t afford this. Not now.

“I need to speak with Charlotte,” she said, trying to make her voice steady, trying not to notice how close he’d drawn. “It is a matter of great importance.”

He smiled faintly, almost predatorily. “More important than telling me who’s roaming around my house in disguise?”

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “Your sister is in danger.”

That did it. His smile dropped. A glint of steel entered his gaze.

“And what danger would that be?” he asked quietly.

“I won’t say more unless I speak with her directly,” Eleanor said. “But I swear on my life, I am not your enemy.”

He stared at her for a long moment, the heat between them flickering into something sharper.

“Well,” he said, at last. “You’re an intruder in my house. You’ve lied, and you’re hiding something. Shall I drag you back into the ballroom and ask the guests if they know who you are? See who steps forward? Or, perhaps, who begins to panic?”

Heavens … what if her parents were present?

“No,” she whispered. “I just need to speak with Charlotte. Please . I do not have time to waste.”

“You will make the time to answer me.”

Eleanor’s heart pounded in her chest, sweat trickling down her back and making her wounds sting.

But she also felt something else: a thrill . A thrill at him being so close. A thrill when his eyes dropped to her mouth and his head inched closer.

“Perhaps there is something in the anonymity,” he murmured. “Perhaps that is why I did not tell you who I was. And why I did not catch you out of your story.”

He leaned in closer, and she met his honey-brown eyes, her breath catching. A strange disappointment pooled in her stomach as he paused an inch away from her lips.

“Tell me who you are,” he said, a subtle command in his tone.

My time is up.

She could only hope that giving her name would spark some sort of recognition. That Charlotte had mentioned their friendship. That revealing her identity would have her thrown before Charlotte for confirmation.

So she steeled herself, and in a tight voice, she spoke, “I am Lady Eleanor Barnes. My parents are the Earl and Countess of Quinley.”

The Duke immediately stepped back, blinking a few times as if deep in thought. When her name finally registered, his eyes widened.

“I know of you,” he muttered.

Eleanor had long since learned how to detect an accusation. How voices turned sharp with judgment. How eyes narrowed in disgust.

“I will not let your reputation ruin hers. You will have no association with her.” The Duke paused, his hands settling on his hips. “If you are indeed Lady Eleanor, then?—”

Her heart lurched when he suddenly lunged toward her.

Instinct overtook her. She flinched, her arms flying up to shield her face, breath catching in her throat.

But instead of pain, a firm hand caught her by the elbow—steady, but not cruel.

She winced anyway, her body bracing for something that didn’t come.

The duke stilled. “What the—” He looked down at her, brows furrowed, his grip loosening instantly. “You thought I meant to strike you?”

Eleanor didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Shame burned her throat.

A beat of silence stretched between them. Then, quietly, he said, “I don’t raise my hands to women.”

His voice had lost some of its edge. Still stern, still sharp, but something flickered beneath it—confusion, maybe even regret.

“I am not going to harm you, Lady Eleanor,” he said as he led her from the library.

His grip on her elbow was firm, but not rough.

And the flicker of emotion in his eyes from earlier still lingered in Eleanor’s mind.