Page 25 of A Duke in Autumn

That sound was enough to snap her out of the daze that his kiss had created. What was she doing? She should be resisting, not kissing him back! Had wearing the daring gown somehow changed her, made her subject to indulging her own wanton fantasies? For, she had to admit to herself, she had fantasised about just this – being kissed by this man.

Utterly shocked at herself, she drew back sharply, pushing him away. He, proving that he was in fact a gentleman, immediately stepped back, and freed her. She met those golden eyes, which were now filled with the unmistakable heat of desire, as he waited for her to speak.

“I… we… I can’t…”

She gave up – she could not form coherent sentences. Instead, she turned, and as she had once before, fled, leaving him standing in the shadows, watching her go.

~~~~~

The scent of her remained around him, even as she fled, and the taste of her on his lips would stay with him for a long time. He found, rather disconcertingly, that he felt a little bereft, and rather hurt that she had fled his embrace, again. The start of that kiss had been magical – she had simply melted into his arms, her mouth opening to him, and her body pressing against his, instinct overcoming inexperience.

It was like something out of the fantasies which had filled his dreams for the last weeks, finally made real. When she had walked into the ballroom, wearing the gown that he’d had made, his heart had thundered in his chest. He had hoped, but he had not truly expected her to wear it, for to do so would mean defying her mother, and he had not thought her willing to do that.

Had she worked it out, he’d wondered? Had she concluded that he was the one who had sent it? And if she had, what did it say about her feelings towards him, that she had chosen to wear it? He’d discovered that he cared, very much, about the answers to those questions.

Then, when they had spoken, he had become more and more convinced that she had realised that he was the sender. By part way through the waltz, all he could think of was crushing her against him, and kissing her senseless. So he had allowed desire to rule him, and risked bringing her out here, where shadows could hide a great deal.

He had thought, in those first few moments of the kiss, that it had been a wise choice – until she had pulled away, and fled. At least she had not slapped him across the face, which she would have been quite in her rights to do. If anyone had come across them, she would have been ruined, and they would have been forced to marry, after all.

He stayed there, leaning against the pillar, for quite some time, reliving this kiss in his mind, and cursing himself for a fool. There was just something about Lady Eugenia, which made him take risks, which made him unable to resist doing things which challenged everything about her.

Finally, when he thought that enough time had passed, he went back inside, and sought Lady Bellinghaugh. He settled beside her, in silence, and watched the dancers, finding himself clenching his jaw at the sight of Lady Eugenia dancing with Lord William Carlson.

“So, you are interested, after all. I thought as much. But you’ll never admit it to me, will you? You’re a stubborn rogue.”

Morris turned to face his aunt, with her eyes that glinted with mischief, just as he knew his did at times, and shook his head.

“Admit what, Aunt? There is nothing to admit. Has my mother infected you with hopeful delusions on my behalf?”

Lady Bellinghaugh laughed.

“I am not so easily fooled – either by you, or by your mother. But you make your own choices. Just remember – if you’re too stubborn, you’ll lose her. Some other man will see the value in her, and charm her into marriage. No matter what you tell me, I don’t think that’s what you want to see happen.”

Morris had no answer for that, but the words left him feeling frustrated and uneasy, out of sorts with himself.

Chapter Twelve

“I cannot tell you, my Lady. I cannot break the confidentiality which I promised my customer.”

Eugenia made a little huff of frustration. She stood in the modiste’s shop, alone with Madame Bergeron, having left Nell waiting outside the door. The carriage waited for her, a little down the street.

She considered for a moment – perhaps a different question might provide a better answer.

“Madame, I can see how that would be important, so I will not ask you to speak a name aloud. But, if I should mention a name… you might, perhaps, find it in you to incline your head in agreement, if the person I name had something to do with the ordering of that lovely sapphire blue gown which was delivered to me?”

“Lady Eugenia, you appear to have grasped the essence of the situation.”

The modiste waited, and Eugenia took a steadying breath.

If she was wrong, the only person who would know about her assumption was Madame Bergeron, who would also keep confidential this conversation. And she simply had to know.

“Very well, Madame. I believe that the Duke of Oakthorpe may have visited your establishment. For a gentleman, he has a fine eye for ladies’ fashion – would you not agree?”

Madame Bergeron’s eyes lit with amusement and admiration. Her head inclined in a gentle nod.

“Indeed, my Lady, the Duke is most discerning. His eye for colour is wonderful. And I believe that he has a special fondness for shades of blue.”

Eugenia’s heart soared. She was right! The Duke had commissioned that gown for her. Part of her felt a delicious thrill. She had, by accepting that gown, done something utterly scandalous – even if no one else knew of it, it made her feel all warm and quivery inside to know the truth Now, she could go home to the quiet of Upper Nettlefold with this secret to delight her in memory, all through the cold of winter.