Eliza clutched her empty orgeat glass and stared down into the bottom of it, rather than meeting Lord Gabriel’s gaze. She leaned against the column to her left for support.
“Lord D’Asti and Lady Eugenia are a love match.” Eliza’s words sounded hollow and far away. “Must your mother truly punish me for my sister’s actions? I had nothing to do with Susan’s interference—”
“I know, and I will do what I can to make your case with her, but you must understand that my mother can be a very difficult, very stubborn, woman at times. I cannot make any promises that what I do will make a difference.”
“Thank you for telling me, and I appreciate you being willing to speak to her on my behalf, Lord Gabriel.” Eliza swallowed hard. “I very much enjoy your sister’s friendship, and yours, as well. And His Grace… I have never encountered anyone quite like him, and I wish him every possible happiness, no matter how he proceeds with this mess we are all in. If you will excuse me, I’m afraid I need a moment to compose myself.”
Eliza hurried away, aiming for the terrace and some much-needed fresh air. Lord Edward Melthorn stepped into her path, his standard, charming smile in place, but Eliza shook her head and stepped around him, not even slowing her pace.
Her shoulder clipped the Duke of Elkington’s arm as she passed, but she did not bother to stop for him, either. After all, he was forbidden to speak to her. Why should she stop to apologise?
The moment she was outside, she pressed herself against the wall to the side of the door and sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm herself, fighting off the sting of tears threatening to fall.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone, Miss Wingfield.”
The Duke of Elkington’s voice was soft beside her, and she glared over at him, her heart aching with all the yearning she’d felt for him these past few months.
“And you shouldn’t be speaking to me, Your Grace. Your mother strictly forbade it, as a matter of fact.”
Eliza pushed off the wall and tried to skirt around the Duke, trembling with the cacophony of emotions assaulting her in that moment.
He caught her wrist as she passed, spinning her to face him, his expression tortured.
“Who told you?”
“Lord Gabriel did, but I wish it had been you.” Eliza’s gaze flicked down to where his long, warm fingers had so easily locked around her wrist. She tried to tug herself free, but he didn’t release her, so she locked gazes with him and frowned. “Excuse me, please, Your Grace. I believe I owe Lord Edward Melthorn a dance.”
“No.” The Duke’s voice was a low growl that rumbled over Eliza’s skin and sent a shiver skittering down her spine. “Dance with me, Miss Wingfield.”
“Are you really willing to risk your mother’s wrath?”
“All I know is that I’m certainly not willing to watch you dance with Lord Edward Melthorn, not even once more, regardless of my mother forbidding me to see you or speak with you again because of her squabble with your sister.”
“Are you serious?”
Eliza blinked up at him, her mouth falling open with shock. Was he jealous of Lord Edward apparently courting her? She bit her lip, feeling so deeply conflicted about keeping the kiss she’d seen between Lady Catherine and Lord Edward a secret.
“Quite.” The Duke nodded firmly, not even blinking as he stared down at Eliza. “Dance with me, Miss Wingfield, and spare me the torment of having to watch you dance with anyone else.”
Suddenly unable to find her voice, Eliza simply nodded. The Duke tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and the two of them walked back into the ballroom just as the string quartet began playing the first notes of a waltz. All eyes turned to them, and Eliza considered tugging free and running away when his mother glared at them from the edge of the dance floor.
“None of that,” the Duke whispered, so that only Eliza could hear him, as he positioned her in his arms, and they began to waltz. “I know you dislike notoriety, but there is no turning back now, Miss Wingfield.”
Eliza was flushed, trembling, and overwhelmed by his closeness, by finally being held in his arms again after that day he rescued her in the park. But this? This was far different than that.
* * *
Raphe knewthat there were going to be consequences for this waltz — that much he could see on his mother’s face — but he didn’t care. The only things in the world that mattered were that Miss Wingfield knew the truth, and that — for the first time since his mother had forbidden him to pursue her — he didn’t have to watch her dance with Lord Edward Melthorn. And thank heavens for that. If he had to watch the two of them court any longer without doing something about it, he was going to go mad.
As he pulled her close and spun her around the dance floor, all Raphe could seem to think about was what it would be like to kiss Miss Wingfield on those perfectly full, pink lips. Raphe was a man in far over his head, with absolutely no idea how he was going to get out.
CHAPTER9
BITTERWOOD HOUSE, LONDON, NOVEMBER 1812
Priscilla Melthorn, better known as the Countess of Bitterwood, was going to have to take matters into her own hands. Edward seemed to have taken her advice and appeared to be courting Miss Eliza Wingfield, but apparently, he was not doing quite a good enough a job of it, if the waltz Miss Wingfield had shared with the Duke of Elkington at last night’s Ball was anything to judge by.
“I vow to you, Bessie, there will never be a day when I do not hate the Duchess of Elkington.”
