Page 83 of How to Tempt a Duke

“You and your wife ought to be shown to your rooms.” Lottie’s smile didn’t reach any part of her face but her lips. “You and I can leave this discussion for later. For now, I would like a moment alone with the Earl of Westix.”

Thomas indicated the closed door. “Shall I summon the butler to show you to your rooms?”

Charles glanced behind him to find Eleanor’s cheeks had gone quite red. She gave a subtle nod, and he realized she was agreeing with Lottie and Thomas. The door to the room clicked open and Thomas disappeared.

Westix bowed to Charles. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace? I would very much like to speak to Lottie alone.”

Charles gritted his teeth. “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

Westix did not so much as blink at the threat. “If I hurt her in such a way again, I’ll kill myself.”

“Evander!” Eleanor gasped in horror.

Her brother shook his head. “I have committed many egregious wrongs, sister. And for all of them I’m heartily sorry.”

The Comlongon Castle butler entered the room and politely asked Charles and Eleanor to follow him.

This time Eleanor did not protest, and neither did Charles. They obligingly followed the butler from the drawing room, leaving Westix with Lottie and the ugly truth about what his abandonment had cost her.

Eleanor was unsurprised to find they were shown to her girlhood room at Comlongon Castle, with its billowing white curtains framing a cherrywood four-poster bed.

“We have several maids who can see to your unpacking,” the butler said in a drawl of regal nonchalance, and nodded to the small pile of their effects.

“Perhaps later.” Charles nodded his thanks and the butler took his leave.

Then Charles turned toward her, his gaze full of concern. “Eleanor...”

The way he said her name was tender, and weighted with all the sorrow of what had transpired. Laughter bubbled up in Eleanor’s throat. Or was it a sob? By her word, it was impossible to tell at this point.

Evander was alive, in Scotland, at Comlongon Castle. And he had tried to send letters. If they had got through, how many years of heartache might have been avoided?

Her throat grew tight.

“Eleanor...” Charles said her name again and strode toward her, his arms open.

She needed no further encouragement and ran into his embrace. His body was strong, protective.

Once she’d confessed to Evander why she’d married Charles he had offered to allow her to stay there in Scotland. It would be so easy to set herself free of the entire mess of it. Even the scandal they’d caused in London would soon be buried beneath something more salacious. Fortune, after all, did have a way of encouraging acceptance.

Except that her marriage to Charles could not be annulled.

It would be safer for her to stay in Scotland—for her heart at least. This last day with Charles had pressed upon her with more difficulty than she’d imagined. How could she be with him and not fall in love? And if she lost her heart in her attempt to live a true life would that be a worthy sacrifice? Or would it only bring a greater misery?

Her head ached at the torrent of thoughts smashing around in her skull.

“The journals are no longer mine to give you.” She was grateful her face was buried in Charles’s chest, so she did not have to see his face when she spoke the horrible truth.

“I’m well aware.” Charles rubbed a gentle circle over her back.

“My side of our arrangement is woefully short.” She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could as easily close off her hurt.

“I still needed a duchess,” Charles replied. “I am glad to have you as my wife.”

A wife he would soon leave in pursuit of the ruby. For she knew he would never abandon it. No doubt he would approach Evander about the journals the first chance he got.

The ache in Eleanor’s chest became palpable.

“I want you,” Charles said softly. “As a confidante, to continue our candid discussions, as a beautiful woman on my arm, and to share my bed and explore the passion we share.”