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“I can hardly carry you into the house in such a state. Let’s see if we cannot find whatever it is in your foot, and you can return unscathed.” Oliver met her gaze. “You might not believe it, but Iama gentleman. I shall not do anything with which you are uncomfortable.”
“I know,” she said softly.
Maybe she really had ceased hating him. A tiny frisson of triumph ran through him.
He studied the foot in question but could see nothing in her thick white stockings. He prodded the sole of her foot and she recoiled, trying to wrench her leg from his hold.
“I think you need to remove your stockings.”
Hesitating only briefly, she pressed hands up her skirts. Oliver swiftly turned his gaze away and tried not to picture soft, rich brown thighs against white silk. He failed. Teeth clenched, he waited until she told him she was done then gently clasped her foot again, resting it against his thigh.
“I always hated feet,” he muttered.
“Sorry.”
“Until yours it seems.” He smiled when he met her gaze. “You have rather attractive feet, Ellie.”
Her eyes crinkled. “Well, I did not know that.”
They shared a look for too long. It made his heart skip a beat. Clearing his throat, he forced his attention back to where it should have been. Back to ensuring she could return to the house without him and without anyone knowing they were together, alone. He twisted her foot gently and caught the slight glint of something in the pad of her heel.
“A fragment of glass, I think. Hold still.”
He heard her exhale when he touched it and her fingers curled around the stone edge of the fountain plinth but other than that, she masked her pain well whilst he dug the fragment out and discarded it in a bush where hopefully it would not hurt anyone else.
“Better?”
She nodded. “Better, thank you.”
He rose and gave her a moment to sort out her stocking but turned around too early and caught her easing her stocking back on. He bunched his hands at his side in case he offered to help.
“Perhaps you should put your slippers back on,” he suggested.
“I suppose that woman is long gone now.”
“No doubt.”
Eleanor moved onto one foot, wobbling slightly as she put on a slipper, then hopped onto the other. She nearly toppled and Oliver grasped her. She wound up flat against his chest and when she lifted her face to his, they were mere inches apart. He smelled rosewater and felt the warmth of her breath. He saw her wide, dark eyes and her full lips.
He felt them beneath his own. Before he even realized what he’d done, Oliver’s mouth had connected with hers—a brief, gentle sweep that sent fire through his veins. A life he’d never imagined tumbled through his mind—marriage, a wife, children.
Releasing her, he stepped back. Eleanor’s gaze remained wide, her mouth ajar. His promises of being a gentleman were for nought and no doubt she was back to hating him. He wouldn’t blame her. No man in his right mind would kiss a duke’s daughter without proper intentions.
“I should return to the house before I am missed, I think.” Oliver jerked his thumb in the direction of the house. “Will you manage to walk from here?”
“Yes, I think. I mean, yes.” Her fingers moved to her mouth, and he didn’t know if she was even aware of what she’d done.
He turned swiftly before he gave into temptation and bundled her back up against him and gave into what would inevitably happen if he kissed Eleanor again.
Chapter Eleven
Delivering on her promise, Chastity managed to invite much of Society to Heath Lodge. A few miles out of London, the house allowed Chastity’s husband to escape the Season when he so desired yet was still close enough that Chastity could host and partake in as many balls and parties as she desired.
Eleanor watched her sister flit from group of women to group of women with ease, and wondered how it was she had married one of the most reclusive lords in England, yet was so blissfully happy. On paper, their match seemed odd but when one saw them together, their devotion to one another was unsurpassed. Somehow, it worked.
Eleanor nibbled on the end of a thumb and set down her empty plate. Chastity and Valentine were an exception. It did not mean all reclusive people could find a match with more outgoing people, did it?
The luncheon had spilled from the dining and drawing rooms into the garden where tables and chairs were set out alongside large parasols. Bowls and croquet were on offer, with many of the ladies partaking. Eleanor loathed both games. The thought of people watching her most likely miss sent a shiver down her spine.
