“I still have not seen a single one,” she replied—rather breathlessly.
At the doorway, he craned his head over his shoulder. “I’ll introduce you to one.”
“Dorian—Your Grace,” she corrected hastily. “Earlier, I noticed something—the tips of my uncle and aunt’s former home. Years ago, there was a boy named Ash near here, or close to here, I assume. Did you buy the land from him?”
He turned; brows lowered. “When I came across this land, there was a ramshackle hut here and no one was living in it. TheCrown decided the land was free for the taking and I purchased it. Who is this Ash?”
Ellie’s eyes strayed to the window. “He was a boy I loved when I was younger. My uncle found us one day, and the next day, Ash was gone. I—I never saw him again.”
Leaning on the wall, Dorian asked, “Does this Ash have a last name?”
She pinked, “I don’t know. He was mute, you see, and he never told me his name. I—I only called him that because his hair was the tone of bleached wheat.” She let out a breath. “I suppose my uncle made sure he was sent away.”
His lips ticked down. “Calf love does not last, Evelina.”
Pressing her hand to her chest, she rubbed a sore spot. Her eyes flickered up. “That is the thing… I don’t think it ever left.”
He reached around to rub the tense lines in the back of his neck. “I do not know what to tell you.”
Levelling an inquisitive gaze to him, she asked, “You have never fallen in love with a young girl?”
“Oh yes,” he drawled sarcastically. “While living in the stews and running with a gang. And while my survival depended upon stealth, it made more sense to be distracted by a girl.”
“You were in agang?” she parroted. “In the stews?”
Looking at the elegant, powerful man before her, she found the notion unbelievable. “Is that why you walk so soundlessly?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I grew up on the streets of Covent Garden, St. Giles and Whitechapel. That was after I’d swept chimneys for years, and before you ask, the leader of the gang was Carrington. Back then, he only went by Sterling. I survived by any means possible. All of that is far behind me. But I thought it was best that you should know.”
She shook her head. “There is still a disconnect between you being a Duke inherit and you ending up in the street.”
“That is for another time,” he said. “Now, do me a favor and stay away from the windows.”
Dorian left the room and took the air with him; the faint scent of his cologne, a subtle mix of citrus and spice lingered after his presence. Pressing her fingertips to her lips, she sucked in a breath; she could almost feel the firm pressure of his mouth on hers, the flicker of his wet tongue on her bottom lip.
Her insides quivered like sweet trifle.
No one had ever looked at her with this level of raw intensity. In general, she was not allowed to be around men. She observed them at a distance across the ballroom; those men were the portrait of manners, their words chosen carefully for the delicate ears of a lady.
Dorian was another breed of gentleman. His eyes, when trained on her, had the vibrancy of a wolf cornering a quivering deer. All instincts screamed at her to run, and yet her limbs remained frozen.
And his mouth, goodness, his soft, strong mouth was upon hers. It had only been a caress, yet she could barely think. What would have happened if he’d truly kissed her?
Disoriented, she tried to think about anything else but the last ten minutes... yet the sinful… exciting sensations still unfurled within her.
I wonder what he will say when I tell him he took my first kiss...
Her thoughts and worries about how they would go from there ran in rounds until they tired her out and into a slumber. A stiff wrap of knuckles on her door woke her and Dorian’s voice came through the door. “It’s time for you to eat.”
She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then slipped from the bed, and after a quick trip to the washroom where she splashed cold water on her face and dried, she left to find Dorian.
She paced to the front room only to find a spread of cold cuts and mince pies ready for her to eat. She filled a plate and sat down to feast, but then, Dorian strode into the room, visibly struggling to fasten his right cufflink with his injured left arm.
Silently, she left her seat and commandeered his arm, fixing the cufflink for him. She kept her eyes secured on her task as his breath skittered over her cheek; heat pulsed from his body and made her belly quiver.
“There,” she fastened the link and straightened his sleeve before stepping back.
His fitted grey jacket and trousers were exquisitely tailored, molding to his long, virile lines. Above the dusky plum waistcoat, his cravat held a perfect knot.
