Page 64 of How to Tempt a Duke

“I’ve always been bad at such things. Fortunately for me that task will pass to my wife in the future.”

“You’re hopeless.” Laughing joy was evident in her voice. “Attend tonight,” she said. “We can announce our betrothal and the banns can be called later this week. We could be married in a month, easily. It will all be proper, which will please my mother, and she will eventually forgive me, I’m sure. After the announcement is made and the banns are called she will not have me beg off our engagement. Not when it would cause a scandal.”

It was an underhand plan, but a solid one nonetheless. “Are you certain, Eleanor? Your mother may not forgive such a deception.”

“I cannot imagine my life with Devonington.”

Nor could he. The very idea of winning her from the buffoon made Charles want to puff out his chest. Instead, he cradled her face and brought his mouth down to meet her lips. Except he met something decidedly not her lips.

Eleanor gave a little laugh. “You’ve kissed my nose.”

He kissed her lower, touching his lips to her warm mouth. However, once he had managed one kiss he knew it would never be enough again. He anticipated the future with something deeper, more passionate—an ignited lust that would not have to stop.

He straightened, pressed his lips chastely to the top of her head, and breathed in the floral scent of her. Soon he would bury himself in that perfume, tangle in it amid tossed sheets and naked limbs.

“I shall see you tonight.”

A crack of light showed at the door and he realized she had pushed it open. She hesitated, her face cast in that slice of light, revealing her beauty to him and, more importantly, where her lips were located. He bent over her and gave her a kiss he was sure she would not forget.

He lingered a moment longer than he should, hesitant to leave when he wanted nothing more than to deepen their kiss. “Tonight.”

Finally, he slipped into the brilliance of the empty hall, making his regretful departure as he’d promised the Countess he would.

At last, he would have his journals—and he would also have leave to fully taste Eleanor’s passion.

It wasn’t until Eleanor and her mother were announced at Lady Canterbury’s ball that nerves finally got the better of her. Not necessarily because of the public declaration of her engagement to Charles, but her anticipation of declining Devonington’s offer.

Lady Canterbury had always possessed an affinity for roses, and red blossoms now adorned every surface. Why, it almost looked like her own home, after all her hothouse deliveries from Devonington.

Suddenly she recalled Lord Canterbury’s support of Lord Devonington in parliament, and her blood went cold.

These roses weren’t there to reflect Lady Canterbury’s predilection for the flower. Good heavens, they were there for Eleanor. For Eleanor and the Earl of Devonington.

No sooner had she thought of the man than he appeared before her. His thinning brown hair was slicked back against his scalp and he had a quizzing glass raised to one eye, so that it appeared three times its size within the lens. Beneath his black evening jacket he wore a red waistcoat.

“Lady Eleanor.”

He bowed over her hand, revealing the balding patch at the back of his head. His mouth pressed to the back of her glove and she found herself grateful for the barrier between her skin and his lips. He straightened and openly admired her, running his gaze down the length of her sapphire gown overlaid with black lace.

His chest puffed out. “You look stunning.”

Eleanor murmured her thanks—a difficult thing to do around the weight of her guilt. Devonington, while not the man she’d wanted to wed, had gone to great lengths to make the evening memorable.

“My Lord.” The Countess inclined her head in a generous nod and held out her hand.

Eleanor waited for the Earl to bend over her mother before her gaze swept the room for Charles and met only disappointment. He had not yet arrived.

She glanced to the entrance, where Lord and Lady Canterbury were still receiving their guests, but did not find him there either. The music would begin soon. Surely he would want to be there for the opening set?

The Earl of Devonington grinned down at her. “Lady Eleanor, would you do me the honor of allowing me to lead you out for the first set of the evening?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to decline, or at the very least offer some form of an excuse that might afford her some time to allow Charles to arrive. But the Earl’s smile wavered and she realized she was taking too long to reply.

“How very flattering of you to consider me,” Eleanor said, as genuinely as she could muster. “I would be happy to.”

All too soon Lady Canterbury was asked to declare the first set. She cast her sly consideration upon Devonington and announced that it would be the waltz.

The Earl offered his arm to Eleanor, who had no choice but to accept. Her glance around the room turned desperate, but all she found were the same familiar faces of the attendees and too many blasted roses. Where was Charles?