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She looped both arms around his neck, lacing her fingers together as though she could hold him there forever, in a world where Oliver was hers and no one could judge them or tell her she did not deserve this.
He groaned and pushed the kiss deeper. Before Oliver, her experience of kisses amounted to two light pecks, yet nothing felt more natural than allowing him to lead her down a path of swirling heat and desperate desire. His tongue toyed with hers and he kissed her in a manner that made her feel as though she was the only woman he’d ever wanted to kiss, as though he needed her more than his next breath.
When he eased away, he pressed his forehead to hers and kept her cradled in one arm. Thank goodness, or else she might have collapsed to the floor in a boneless puddle. As Eleanor gathered her breath, she tentatively touched his face, then eased aside a curl that draped across his forehead.
Oliver smiled slightly. “What am I to do with you?”
She could think of many things but none of them made sense. Duke’s daughter or not, they could never be together. When she did not answer, he slowly released her.
“I know I shouldn’t have done that, Ellie, but you do something...” He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “You do something to my mind. You...” He waved a hand. “Melt it.”
Eleanor allowed herself a smile. At least she was not feeling these things alone and the rather fumbled confession coming from such a charming man made her feel soft inside.
“I respect you too much,” Oliver said solemnly. “I cannot keep kissing you when I can offer nothing.”
“I know,” she said softly, glancing down at her pink slippers—a stark contrast to the gray stones underneath them.
Rather like her feelings and the situation in which they had found themselves. Inside she was soft, and fragile and warm. The world was dark and hard and unforgiving. Both situations could coexist but they would never meld together. Oliver did not want marriage and she could never be a mistress—the world already thought poorly enough of her as it was thanks to her skin color.
“If things were different...” He gestured vaguely with a gloved hand.
“I know,” she agreed.
Straightening his cravat, he reached over and did the same for her bonnet, then flicked a finger over her nose. “Let us find your carriage shall we? I need to get you away from here before something else happens.” He gave her one last regretful look before taking her arm.
She didn’t get the chance to ask what that something else could be before they entered the crowded street.
∞∞∞
Oliver paused, hand to the doorknob, standing on the threshold between the hallway and library. His brother Ben lifted a glass of what looked to be brandy in salute, flicked another page of his book, and ducked his head.
Well, Oliver supposed he would not be retreating to the library after a long morning of meetings, letter-writing, and talking with the housekeeper. Usually, he’d take a ride in the park or head over to White’s but it didn’t appeal today, most especially if there was even a slim chance of running into Eleanor. No matter how much he told himself he needed to stay away from her, he could not seem to resist, so his best option was to lock himself away like some sort of hermit.
He stepped backward out of the library and drew the door to a soft close. Of course, he was unlikely to see her at White’s but what if he saw her in the street or shopping with her sisters or even passing by in a barouche? With how yesterday went, Oliver would not trust himself in any of those situations. He’d probably leap from his horse like some sort of acrobat and kiss her in the open carriage, regardless of being in public. He had no self-control when it came to that woman.
Marching down the hallway, he opened the door to the main drawing room. Giles lifted his head, waved a newspaper at him, then motioned to the bell pull at the side of the door. “Be a pal and ring for some tea will you?”
“Not you too,” Oliver spluttered.
This brother at least gave a little more of an embarrassed smile than Ben. “You were busy in your study,” he explained. “Didn’t want to disturb you so I said I’d install myself here.” He gestured around the vast, empty room. “Come now, I’m not in your way am I?”
“No,” he muttered, “I suppose not.”
There were, after all, plenty of other rooms in the house, though, at this rate, he’d wind up having to take some time to himself in the lamp room.
“Uh, Oliver?”
He paused, the door halfway shut.
“The tea?”
With a roll of his eyes, he yanked the rope with more aggression than warranted and shut the door with a bang.
Footsteps echoing upon the floorboards, he made his way to the saloon. Hardly the best room for relaxing in, given its size and formal furnishings but it did at least have a drinks cabinet in it. He paused by the door and listened for sounds of pages flicking or glasses clinking.
Nothing.
He inched open the door, eased out a breath when he spied the high-backed sofas unoccupied, then stepped in and turned to shut the door behind him.
