Page 101

“I can imagine that true.” The smile upon his lips deepened almost imperceptibly before he took another step closer, closing the distance between them. He studied her openly now with the same quiet scrutiny he had afforded the room, his gaze travelling over every inch of her as though she were simply another object for him to own.

“So, where did he find you, Duchess of Buckingham?” The title upon his lips sounded less like an address and more like an accusation

"I came from the nearby village", Eliza responded, holding his gaze.

"Windleham?" Malcolm questioned.

She nodded.

"Then the rumours are true."

He gave a quiet laugh.

"Oh, London has thoroughly enjoyed your marriage. They say the fearsome Duke of Buckingham purchased himself a wife."

Her smile faltered.

"They say he sent word throughout his county searching for someone plain..."

His eyes travelled slowly across her face.

"...or positively ugly."

The words struck with surprising force. He tilted his head thoughtfully.

"I confess, I expected worse." His gaze lingered at her chest.

"Though I would not call you positively ugly." His hand rose before she had time to retreat.

Two fingers gently gathered one of the dark curls resting against her shoulder. He examined it as though it was his to touch.

"You are certainly not plain." Malcolm continued.

"But what you most certainly are is exotic. Unfortunately for you, Duchess, one cannot disguise breeding with silk."

She felt something cold settle deep within her chest. Children had whispered, and villagers had stared throughout her childhood. She had long ago accepted that some people would always notice the warm hue of her complexion before they noticed anything of her countenance. But never had anyone spoken with such deliberate cruelty. She instinctively held the locket around her neck and took a measured step backwards.

"I believe this conversation has reached its conclusion, Mr Eapley," she announced, stepping forward to depart, but he matched her step effortlessly.

"So eager to leave," Malcolm said with a tut.

"I have no desire to continue entertaining insults," she said, her eyes darting around the room looking for a way out.

"You misunderstand. I was complimenting you."

"I assure you," she replied quietly, "I should very much prefer you did not."

She moved to step around him once more, but his hand closed around her wrist before she could pass. There was no violence in his grip, no need for it, only the quiet certainty that she would go no farther unless he allowed it. A strange awareness crept over her then, prickling at the nape of her neck and travelling slowly down her spine, like prey realising that they had caught the attention of something far more dangerous.

"Mr Eapley." Her voice remained composed. "You will release me."

"You have spirit." Instead, he drew a fraction closer.

"I said..." She pulled against his grip. "...release me."

He scarcely seemed to notice her resistance.

"I had expected Arthur to choose someone timid."