“He has asked for the opportunity to see whether we might be more than we have been.”
Caroline blinked once, then twice. “Adrian Grant has finally awakened?”
“It appears so,” Eleanor said faintly. “And I do not know whether to laugh at the timing or weep over it.”
“And Lord Marklynne?” Caroline asked.
Eleanor’s shoulders tightened. “He has proposed a… practical arrangement. A trial courtship of a month. At the endof that month, we will decide whether or not we are suited for marriage… and we are. Truthfully In all the ways that signify. He is candid, respectful, entirely sensible. There would be security, position, certainty.”
“And affection?”
“He believes it may grow,” Eleanor said. “He places little stock in romantic nonsense.”
Caroline’s mouth twitched. “And you?”
“I do not love him,” Eleanor admitted. “But I like him. I think. I respect him. And I had convinced myself that such things were sufficient. More than sufficient, even.”
“And now?”
“Now I find myself unable to think clearly about anything.”
Caroline leaned back, studying her. “You are being asked to choose between safety and happiness… certainty of security and sacrifice of the potential for a truly great love.”
“That is precisely it.”
“And which frightens you more?”
Eleanor did not answer at once. When she did, her voice was very quiet. “Losing him. Or worse — discovering I never truly had him at all. And if I do choose him, Adrian, and it does not come to fruition, then Lord Marklynne’s offer will most surely be rescinded—as it should be. And I am back to where I started. Being a stumbling block to my brother’s future happiness. He will never marry if I remain in this house.”
Caroline squeezed her hand. “I wish I could give you some brilliant wisdom that would make the path clear.”
“You have always had an opinion to spare,” Eleanor said, managing a weak smile.
Caroline returned it, but there was sadness in her eyes. “I have been all but promised to the same man for years, and I am no nearer to the altar than I was at nineteen. If I possessedclarity on matters of the heart, I should have used it for myself long ago.”
Eleanor’s expression softened. “Caroline…”
“So I cannot tell you what you ought to do,” Caroline continued gently. “Only this: choose the life that will allow you to wake each morning without regret. Security is not a thing to be scoffed at. But neither is joy.”
Eleanor sat very still, letting those words settle.
After a moment, Caroline added softly, “And whatever you choose, you will not face it alone.”
The tightness in Eleanor’s chest eased for the first time that morning.
She turned her hand beneath Caroline’s and held on.
Chapter
Fourteen
Adrian had kissed women before.
He had done so lightly, easily, with the careless assurance of a man who understood charm and seldom troubled himself to consider consequences. Such moments had been pleasant diversions, nothing more. None had lingered. None had unsettled him.
None had ever left him awake before dawn with the memory burning on his lips.
He stood at the window of his chambers, watching the pale morning struggle through low cloud, and pressed his fingers briefly to his mouth as though the warmth still lived there. A single kiss ought not to have undone him. It had begun gently — deliberately so — meant to reassure rather than overwhelm. Yet the instant Eleanor had gone still in his arms, her breath catching, her fingers tightening against his shirt, he had felt control slip with alarming speed. Deepening the kiss hadn’t been a conscious thought. It hadn’t been a decision he made but a natural, primal instinct. There had been a moment, sharp and dangerous, when that same instinct had urged him to take more than a kiss, to overwhelm her senses as she had overwhelmed his, until tenderness gave way to something farmore consuming. Had she leaned into him even a fraction more, had she not steadied herself and drawn breath, he did not know that he would have stopped.
