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Chapter Twenty-One

“ Y ou must be Lord Avington, the… Ah, Spencer, how did you describe the Marquess of Avington?”

Charlotte looked over at Spencer in the sunroom of Everdawn House, where he had eventually brought her.

So far, they hadn’t encountered any problems, but Eleanor hadn’t been able to relax. After all, Lord Belgrave had waited until she was alone to approach her at the ball. Lord Follet could easily be biding his time, waiting to catch them off guard.

But Charlotte was safe, and Spencer watched her carefully. Lady Montagu had also accompanied them back to London, agreeing to chaperone her niece.

Although Spencer had not yet disclosed why he was being so protective, Lady Montagu seemed to accept his precautions without argument, making Eleanor wonder why the woman was so readily prepared for anything to happen.

“Annoying,” he answered, giving Theodore a tight smile.

Theodore scoffed at that, crossing one ankle over the other as he shook his head. “If I am annoying, then I dread to think how you sound.”

“Charming?” Spencer offered. “Helpful. Protective? Heroic. Devastatingly?—”

“Arrogant,” Theodore cut in, smirking, and Spencer laughed roughly.

Eleanor found she had started to enjoy these moments. She liked seeing others bring out the sarcastic humor in her husband. She liked being on the receiving end of it on occasion, but she got to see a more vulnerable side of him too. He did not wear a mask quite as often.

She wanted to add in her own anecdote about him, how he had matched her faux title mockingly the night they met. How he had been arrogant enough to think she would know him and had not even introduced himself, leaving her floundering.

But she bit her lip, remembering their fabricated story.

She was content to simply listen.

Her eyes lingered on the sharp angle of his jaw, the way the firelight danced across his scarred skin. He could be self- conscious about it at times when he noticed attention drawn to it, but overall it was as though it was simply a part of him.

Eleanor had bit back her questions, but they rose within her again.

It had been three days since they had left Aversham, and every single day so far, she had been woken up with heat between her legs before she even fully opened her eyes.

She never once protested. She rather looked forward to it.

“Leave something out for me,” Spencer had told her the first time. “It will let me know if you want me to wake you up like that. If there is no visual hint, I will wake you up with breakfast. And if there is a visual hint, then… well, you shall simply be my breakfast.”

He had grinned at her so wickedly that she had pulled him back between her legs, feeling the pleasurable heat as his tongue slid into her folds.

“What do you think, Eleanor?” Theodore asked her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Spencer looked across the short distance between their armchairs, his expression amused, his fist propped beneath his jaw. “Yes, my dear wife. What do you think?”

“Of what?” She feigned innocence.

“The best way to describe Spencer,” Charlotte said. “And perhaps Lord Avington, too.”

“Is it a competition?” Theodore asked, glancing at her with a frown.

“No,” she answered, giggling. “Although it could be.”

“We can hardly compete,” Theodore snorted. “You are his sister, and Eleanor is his wife.”

“It does not have to be romantic,” Charlotte argued. “Or anything over the top. Simply a judgment of character.”

“Fine, then,” he relented. “Judge me, Lady Charlotte.”

Eleanor looked between the two of them, noting the easy way they conversed.

It is nothing , she told herself. And even though Charlotte was still unaware of the true nature of her betrothed, it was even more of nothing . Yet her gaze lingered on Theodore for a moment longer, and Eleanor had to wonder how her friend had found herself engaged to Lord Follet.

Had Charlotte even agreed to it? Had Spencer encouraged it, based on Lord Follet’s fake good record?

“Confident,” Charlotte finally answered. “Attractive?—”

“Charlotte,” Spencer said quickly. “Do not overstep.”

“I am not. Can I not comment on a man’s appearance without it meaning something?”

Spencer gave her a pointed look, but his smile did not falter, so Eleanor knew he wasn’t annoyed or truly upset.

Charlotte continued regardless. “You are a socialite. A man who knows everybody, and I think that serves you very well. You must get to attend many events and meet with so many people all over London.”

“Indeed, I do.” Theodore nodded, looking pleased with himself.

In return, Charlotte looked envious and thrilled, biting her lip as if she imagined being a part of that.

Spencer frowned, his forehead creasing as if he thought the opposite. That he had sheltered her from Society so much, causing her to miss out on what she truly wanted. How she wanted a life just like Theodore’s.

“If your brother agrees, I can accompany you to the opera or perhaps a ballet. I can introduce you to several people I know. Ladies and their husbands and the like. If you want to socialize, then it is the best place beyond a ballroom.”

“Really?” Charlotte’s eyes lit up as she sat up straighter in her chair.

Theodore nodded, glancing at Spencer.

Eleanor met her husband’s eyes, knowing he was feeling torn.

He did not want Charlotte to remain engaged to Lord Follet, but until they found a way to break her free, or convince her that it was not the right thing to do without revealing the darker truth of what she had nearly found herself in, he had no reason to break off the engagement.

Therefore he could hardly endorse such a thing, but Eleanor wondered if he wanted to.

“We will see,” was all he said.

Charlotte’s gaze flashed to him. “Broody, stubborn, selfish.” Her words were sharp, even though her voice wasn’t. She narrowed her eyes in mock offense. “Do not ruin my fun simply because you do not know how to have any.”

Theodore let out a low whistle. “Spencer, your little sister bites as sharply as you do.” His eyes flicked to Eleanor, dancing with mirth. “However, I am sure you are more familiar with Spencer’s particular sort of biting.”

“And on that note, I believe it is time you leave, Theodore.” Spencer stood up from his chair with a heavy sigh, scowling at his friend. “You have had your fun.”

“Oh, I am far from having my?—”

“I have heard that the gardens at Avington House are lovely,” Charlotte piped up, glancing between Spencer and Eleanor. “My aunt is very fond of marigolds, which I have heard grow spectacularly in your gardens. Perhaps we could visit and see for ourselves.”

At that, Theodore nodded earnestly. “I am happy to show you both now if you wish. I am sure that a certain couple who cannot stop looking at one another suggestively would be happy to have some alone time.”

He gave a grimace, making Eleanor realize she was gazing at her husband.

Spencer’s particular sort of biting…

She shivered at the thought.

“It is settled,” Spencer declared quickly. But before he could get ahead of himself—perhaps at the opportunity to have alone time with her—he gave his friend a long look. “Keep my sister safe.”

“I would not dream of keeping her any other way.” Theodore acknowledged his concern regardless, and Charlotte rushed off to find her aunt.

As soon as the three of them left, and the door closed with a resounding thud , Spencer was on Eleanor, pressing her into the settee, his mouth already on hers.

“You have been giving me those hungry looks ever since you entered the sunroom,” he growled against her mouth, pulling back to run his eyes over her face. He thumbed at her lower lip, cocking his head. “Care to explain why?”

“Simply you ,” Eleanor breathed, her chest rising, her legs already parting for him. “I enjoy you in the color you are wearing.”

She smoothed her hand over his dark, copper tailcoat, so dark it was almost rust-colored.

Spencer truly did not wear colors often, and everything else about his attire was dark, but the color of his coat brought out his eyes and accentuated the copper in his hair.

“Do you know how I enjoy you?” he murmured between kissing the lobe of her ear and the shell.

“I enjoy you in fine gowns and simple gowns. I enjoy you when you first wake up and your eyes can barely open in the sunlight. I enjoy you when you are naked in my bed or your own, and I enjoy you when you cry out for me in the throes of desire.”

He pulled back, not taking his eyes off her as he lowered himself to his knees. He smirked at her, pulling her skirts up her legs until her thighs were exposed. Her heart jumped, as it always did when he spoke like that or looked at her the way he was doing now.

Her fingers found their usual home in his thick hair.

His mouth grazed the inside of her knee. He didn’t kiss her. No. He bit her. His teeth caught skin, tugging it up so he could suck on it.

Eleanor gasped as the sting of it zapped to her core. She had not expected it. He had nipped her neck before, but it was nothing like this.

Nothing like the searing heat that spread across her skin.

“Your legs are not tanned from the sun,” Spencer noted. “It is perhaps the only place I can do this. Even your breasts, as much as I wish to mark them, could be a risky place. I do so like the thought of marking you in such a way.”

He hummed against her skin.

“My… my breasts?” she whispered incredulously.

Spencer nodded, reaching up a hand to fondle one.

She moaned softly as he found her peak, tucked beneath the neckline of her dress.

And then he bit her inner thigh just like he had done to her knee.

He pinched her nipple, bit her thighs, and before he even pressed his covered length against her as he surged up to kiss her, she was soaked and trembling.