“I’ve never been here before,” he said, explaining it to her as if she were a small child. “I’d have to be a bloody clairvoyant to know where I’m going.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well then, lead the way.”
He pulled her back to the house, making his way to a side door. “Where does this go?” he asked.
“Inside,” she replied.
He gave her a sarcastic look.
“Through Sophie’s writing room to the hall,” Eloise expounded.
“Is Sophie in her writing room?”
“I doubt it. Didn’t she go to fetch you lemonade?”
“Good.” He pulled the door open, muttering a quick thanks that it was unlocked, and poked his head inside. The room was empty, but the door to the hall was open, so he strode across and pulled it shut. When he turned back around, Eloise was still standing in the open doorway to the outside, watching him with a blend of curiosity and amusement.
“Shut the door,” he ordered.
Her brows rose. “I beg your pardon?”
“Shut it.” It wasn’t a tone of voice he used often, but after a year of floating along, of feeling lost amid the currents of his life, he was finally taking control.
And he knew exactly what he wanted.
“Shut the door, Eloise,” he said in a low voice, moving slowly across the room toward her.
Her eyes widened. “Phillip?” she whispered. “I—”
“Don’t talk,” he said. “Just shut the door.”
But she was frozen in place, staring at him as if she didn’t know him. Which, in truth, she didn’t. Hell, he wasn’t so sure he knew himself any longer.
“Phillip, you—”
He reached behind her and shut the door for her, turning the lock with a loud and ominous click.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“You were worried,” he said, “that we might not suit.”
Her lips parted.
He stepped forward. “I think it’s time I showed you that we do.”
Chapter 12
... and how did you know that you and Simon were well-suited for marriage? For I vow I have not met a man about which I might say the same, and this after three long seasons on the Marriage Mart.
—from Eloise Bridgerton to her
sister the Duchess of Hastings,
upon refusing her third proposal of marriage
Eloise had time to breathe—barely—before his mouth came down on hers. And it was a good thing she did, because it didn’t feel as if he had any plans to release her until, oh, the next millennium.
But then, abruptly, he drew back, his large hands cradling her face. And he looked at her.
