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Eleanor glanced back at where the others stood looking at another rose bush and nodded eagerly.

While the others were still distracted, Spencer tugged her off the main path and deeper into the garden. When they were far enough away that the canopies covered them, in that alcove he had mentioned, he dropped to his knees before her.

“He will have my head for this,” Spencer muttered, laughing as he pushed her dress up. “But I find myself not caring a whit.”

And then his mouth was on her, his tongue plunging inside her. Eleanor had to muffle her sounds but couldn’t when she wanted to find purchase on Spencer’s hair to ground herself against the pleasure that weakened her knees. In one swift motion, he yanked off his cravat and held it up to her.

She took it curiously.

“As much as I do not wish to muffle your pretty noises, it is necessary right now.” Mirth danced in his eyes.

He stood up again, long enough to push his cravat between her teeth. It was a strange sensation, the silk coating her tongue, but she gazed up at him, and he held her face.

“Pinch my ear if it is too much,” he told her, kissing her over the fabric.

She nodded as he kissed his way back down her body, his hands skimming over her gown hurriedly. And then he was back inside her, his tongue working delights between her legs.

Her eyes rolled back in ecstasy as she pressed him closer with a tug on his hair. He drew wicked, torturous circles against her core, bringing her closer and closer to a quick release. The silk in her mouth only added to the sensation, still warm from his neck, smelling like him.

She moaned at that fact alone, and when Spencer licked her into a climax, her shout was muffled enough. At least she hoped. Her pulse fluttered, her head spinning as she came down from her high and Spencer stood up to remove his cravat.

He paused before slipping it into her corset, right between her breasts.

“Safekeeping,” he murmured, before planting a light kiss on her lips.

Eleanor could only gape at this adventurous, daring husband of hers, a man who was unlocking so many more doors than she could have ever thought.

“My aunt has taken Charlotte to the theater, so we are—Heavens, Eleanor, what a mess.”

Spencer’s voice had Eleanor looking up from the counter she had been working at, her hands covered in flour. She grinned, finding him staring around the kitchen in mock horror.

A smile tugged at his mouth when he looked back at her. “Did you manage to get any flour on your dough?”

“Yes,” she insisted. “Some. We already agree that I am clumsy, am I not?”

He took in the flour covering the counters, her apron, and her hair. He said nothing, where he once would have chided her for being a duchess in a kitchen, baking.

“Indeed.”

He strode over to her and pressed a tender kiss to her temple. Eleanor leaned into him without realizing just how much she gravitated toward him.

“What are you baking?”

“I was going to bake honey cakes,” she said. “For it is an old favorite, of course.”

“No honey cakes?” he asked, and she could swear she heard a note of disappointment in his voice.

“I could not find the honey, and I did not really want to venture out.”

“I could have?—”

“ Spencer .” She laughed. “I am perfectly capable of doing things alone. I merely wanted to say that I took the opportunity to try another flavor. Here, taste.”

She went to pick up a spoon and dip it into the mixture that would go into the dough, but Spencer caught her wrist and guided a fingertip lightly through the sweet goodness. He brought it to his lips and sucked it gently into his mouth.

Eleanor blinked, aware she should not be surprised anymore, but she was nonetheless.

He hummed, his tongue wrapping around her digit for a moment before releasing her. “Delicious. The filling is very good, too.”

Eleanor blushed furiously. “It is raspberry and almond.”

“That explains why you smell so good,” he murmured, leaning into her neck.

“You have an infatuation with my scent.” She giggled, pushing him away. “Shoo, I must continue baking. I have missed it.”

“Gardening, baking—is there anything else you love to do that is not exactly conventional for a duchess?”

“I can think of something I would like,” she teased, her eyes running over the length of his body, lingering just below his waistband. “That would be unconventional.”

“Careful,” he warned. “Do not tease me with such suggestions, or else you might find yourself on your k—” He stopped right as her desire flared slightly.

Of course that would have been the best position for such an act, as he did for her, but her hands shook and she swallowed. She returned to kneading her dough.

“There are—there are other ways to do such a thing,” Spencer said, realizing where her mind had gone.

Eleanor was torn by the desire to please and taste her husband.

But the thought of being on her knees brought only memories of cold stone floors beneath her, the feel of pebbles digging into her ruined skin, and prayers chanted until her throat was hoarse.

She heard the sharp voice of a pious woman calling her too many names as she wove her shroud of shame.

“We can experiment,” she allowed, though her voice was shaky. “It is something I want to do.”

“There is no pressure.”

“I know.”

Their eyes met, and Spencer moved closer again, taking her into his arms. He pulled her to his chest, letting her forget the memories, and even her baking for a moment.

She sank into him, relaxing in his warmth. “Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me,” he assured her.

“I do, for everything,” she insisted. “For this, for your protection, for saving me from that place. I-I will never forget your face when you found me in the kitchen, drowned in the cauldron.”

Spencer flinched at the recollection, and he held her tighter. “I will never regret the day I pulled you out of there. Never, Eleanor.”

He tilted her face up to kiss her, and he didn’t care when she flattened her hands on his waistcoat, smudging flour on the fine material. He simply held her until she stopped trembling, and kissed her until her thoughts turned into softer things.

Eventually, Eleanor pulled away, returning to her dough, and Spencer asked her to have dinner with him that evening on the terrace instead of the dining room.

She agreed, replacing her fear of her past with excitement for the very near future.