The clock struck ten when she left the library and slipped from her bedchamber into his. Peeling his covers down, she slid herrobe away and got between the sheets. Pillowing her head on the soft cushions, she drifted off to sleep.
When she woke in the early hours of the morning, the bed was still empty, and she stifled a sigh. Dorian was not home.
Turning to her other side, however, she saw a figure slumped in a chair near the window.
Dorian?
His silhouette, half illuminated by the light, outlined his lean, imposing figure. His strong jaw and slightly hawkish features were tilted away from her. His long dark hair was unbound this evening, falling around his shoulders in glistening waves while his left leg was extended. One arm dangled over the armrest of the chair, holding a glass.
When had he come in?
Had he slept?
Was he drunk?
“I know you’re awake, Evelina,” he murmured, lifting the glass. “And I know what you are thinking. But it is only water.”
She pushed up and raked her fingers through her hair. “Dorian, when you took me… the terms of your agreement now feel…redundant. You are very well adapted to the ton, in your own way. Beyond that, you have made no effort to move on from your past, nor tame the gossips either. Why did you truly need me?”
He craned his head. “The terms were clear.”
“No,” she slid her feet from under the sheets and sat on the edge of the bed. “The terms were as full of holes as Swiss cheese. You could have chosen any lady of the ton to help you, but you chose a woman with no dowry who had no ties to the ton.
“Should I start to believe you plucked me out of Carrington’s clutches because of the goodness of your heart?” she asked. Pushing off the bed, she padded to him and stepped between his parted legs. “What are you not telling me, Dorian?”
He lifted his head and gave her a blank stare.
Unphased, she placed a hand on his shoulder and carefully rested her knee over his left leg. Gently doing the same on the other side, she straddled him. “Tell me the truth, Dorian.”
Once again, he did not utter a word; instead, he cupped the back of her head and kissed her. Her entire being shivered at the hot demand of his kiss. His lips were warm and passionate, his tongue sweeping into her mouth domineeringly.
She sucked eagerly on his questing tongue, and a low growl rumbled out from his chest while his tongue thrust in deeper. Aneedy pulse started at her core, spreading to the taut tips of her breasts and the aching place between her thighs.
He broke the kiss all too soon and softly bit her bottom lip. Pulling away, he whispered, “We should get ready for Wellington’s regatta.”
Her posture wilted at his non-reply. Dropping her forehead to his shoulder, Ellie craned her face to his neck. “Will you promise to tell me one day?”
Dorian’s hand surged up her back. “Maybe one day, when all this is done.”
Meaning finding his uncle and cutting ties with Carrington. And perhaps even cutting ties with me.
Kissing his neck, Ellie slipped off his lap and, with a resigned sigh, left for her rooms, calling her maid along the way.
It was in the late afternoon when they were headed to the ball at Vauxhall. Evelina had wanted to take the boat there, but Dorian had refused. In the wake of Carrington’s implied threat, to watch his back and hers, he could not allow open space for gunfire.
They were on the Grand Walk, and Evelina’s head was snapping left to right. The pure delight he saw on her face, the slight partof her lips, and her widened eyes birthed a flutter of pride under his breastbone.
The map of the park dangled in her hand. “Are we going to the Lovers Walk?”
He smirked, “Do you want to see debauchery of all kinds, sweetheart? Because that is what we will see if we stay late enough and do venture down those walks. For now, we are bound for the Rotunda, but let us take our time there. I would hate for Wellington to mistake us for punctual.”
“Speaking of Wellington,” she sidestepped a pool of melted orange ice on the cobblestone, “Isn’t it sad that his boat lost after the speech he gave on its legacy and how he hoped to do his father proud?”
Dorian snorted. “I’d wager that was by design. Knowing Wellington, he probably made his men lose the race on purpose to collect the bets against him. He’s likely earned a hundred thousand on tonight alone. The man is as cunning as a fox.”
“That is a windfall.”
“With his wealth? It is next to nothing.”
