Page 70 of How to Tempt a Duke

“Comlongon Castle.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Where the journals are. The entire reason you even came here. They’re the only thing you ever think of.”

Yes. Of course. The journals. Though the thought came as a surprise, for it suddenly struck him that in all his panic over having abandoned Eleanor he had not once thought of those journals in Scotland. Yet again, he had thought only of her.

Was Eleanor mad? Was she truly trying to dissuade the Duke from continuing with their agreement? Marrying Charles was the only option she had, aside from being ruined.

Charles watched her with a curious expression, one set somewhere between concern and—dared she think it?—tenderness.

“I was not there to protect you,” he said. “Let me make this right.”

“It’s not your responsibility to make it right, Your Grace.”

Though even as she said the words her voice faltered. What was it about this man that drew out her emotions? They rushed through her veins unbidden and left her thoughts scattered. This man who had promised so much and made her experience life with more color, more vivacity than she had known possible.

She put a hand to her brow to still the chaos churning within. “Charles. Please...”

He stepped toward her and tentatively reached for her hand. She looked up at him, reminded again of how very tall he was. And how terribly appealing, with his brilliantly blue eyes. The tenderness there was unmistakable now, far outweighing the concern, and it threatened to undo her.

If she were a smart woman she would offer to sell him the journals at an exorbitant price. And yet here, held in his gaze, she found she could not properly speak. Nor did she pull her hand away when his fingers met hers, gloveless and naked. His touch sent a tingle of warmth up her arm where it radiated outward.

“Marry me, Eleanor. Not to save yourself from ruin but for our mutual compatibility.” He slid a side glance at where Amelia stood, clutching her hands over her chest in rapt attention. “In all things,” he added with discreet intimacy.

Eleanor’s breath quickened. How could she deny the passion between them, and the candor they’d shared? And yet could she live with the riot of feelings he set loose within her? He would leave often, as her father had done. She would have to expect it and ward off any swaying toward love. To protect herself. She had previously assumed love to be something of stories. She knew now its existence as well as its danger.

“Yes, Charles,” she answered in a quiet voice.

Amelia gave a little squeak.

Charles glanced to the side once more, this time with mild irritation at their spectator, who was now fanning her glossy eyes.

“But we will have to leave now,” Eleanor said. “Before Mother learns of it. Amelia, please pack a bag for me.”

“And quickly,” Charles added. “I believe your butler may have sent the Watch for me, if he does not appear himself, armed with a pistol.”

Eleanor turned from where she was pointing to several garments for Amelia to pack. “What happened with Edmonds?”

“I locked him a room,” Charles answered. “The library, I believe. It was not my intention, but the man fought like the devil to keep me from entering.”

Eleanor held up one hand and pinched the bridge of her nose with the other, belatedly realizing it was an action her father had done many times. “You locked Edmonds in the library?”

Charles grimaced. “To see you. I will compensate him for his troubles and beg his forgiveness.”

The very thought of Edmonds battling Charles to protect her endeared her to the overly formal servant. It had been valiant. She would be personally thanking him as well. Once they returned.

A giddy bubble of excitement tickled up within her, despite her attempts to tamp it down. For when next she returned to London she would be a duchess.

“I expect no less.” She only hoped Charles’s efforts would be enough for Edmonds after what he’d been through, the poor man. “It was quite brave of him. Please ensure you provide restitution.”

The doorway remained thankfully clear during the short time it took to get a simple trunk packed and compose a hasty note to her mother. Within several minutes Eleanor and Charles were racing down the servants’ stairs to avoid being seen.

Soon they would be wed. And finally, after all the frustration and pain of their precarious situation, Eleanor and her mother’s troubles would be over.

Chapter Twenty-Three

After Charles had packed his own trunk at Somersville House, they had only one stop to make: Lottie’s town house.

“We needed a second witness,” he said, in reply to Eleanor’s confused expression. “Aside from Thomas. I trust you approve?”

She beamed up at him and accepted his proffered arm. “Most assuredly.”