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Perplexed at his request, but not unforthcoming with his antics, she leaned her body forward, offering her tiny pale hand. They were inches apart now. “Another circus trick I imagine?” she breathed, “okay, Simon, I’ll play along. So. Are you to read my palm or something?”
“Yes, just that actually,” he replied. “I have acquaintances in all kinds of places, and some…gypsies up by our farm in Kensington taught me how to read fortune last fall.”
“Well, what does it show? Am I to be married?” Her thigh was touching his, her shoulder brushed against him, and he could sense the distinct scent of lilies as her gaze raised to meet his eyes. He found himself desiring to taste her, and it was evident she could sense something too in the way her breath suddenly held.
“That part is unclear, unfortunately,” he said in a low voice, tracing a finger over her heart line and down to her wrist. “But it does say…you’ll be spending more time in the presence of quite the handsome gentleman.”
He was teasing, and she rolled her eyes at his words. He reached out to hold her other hand, yearning for her touch, anything to keep his mind from wandering. But his elbow bumped the oak table, sending a wine glass to the ground, shattering it to pieces. A piercing sound rang through the dining room, and he found himself flinching and cursing under his breath.
“Oh,” Eloise exclaimed. “It’s all right, I’ll pick it up.” She pulled her hands back, lowering herself to the floor.
“No,” he quickly said, holding her shoulder. “…There’s no need to ruin this fine evening. Let’s—let’s just eat, we can deal with this later.” He felt his face grow warm, as his eyes sought sanctuary against all colors of maroon now, because of that…dress.
With a hesitant nod, she shifted back in her chair to face the grand dinner. But then, without warning, she placed her hand over his, stroking it a little.
His eyes immediately fell back on her. “What are you—”
“I really am thankful. Now let’s just enjoy the dinner, all right?” She smiled warmly, digging her utensils into the warm food.
A placating stillness fell over him for a moment as he took a deep breath, determined to recommence this perfect evening he had planned out for her. But even more determined to not allow her to see him in such a pitiful state. He hummed and then took a small bite of his food.
“Damn!” he spat out, as a searing chunk of meat burned his tongue. He dropped the fork onto the table, its ringing blasting against his ears. It was hot, his hands were shaking, and his eyes traveled to the maroon gown once more.
No, not now.
“You’re not all right,” Eloise declared, not leaving room for an excuse. “Simon, what is going on? Are you feeling ill?”
“Quite. It’s just a simple stomach ache.” He stood up, catching his breath, with a firm grip against the edge of the large, willow table to steady his balance. “Maybe I should…”
Without finishing his thought, he careened to the door, his guide, the darkness; the decorative roses and tulips dissolving in a fiery blur around him. He couldn’t see clearly; he could only feel and smell the rain from that…that night, along with that…hideous sight of the carnage.
“Simon?” He heard Ellie call, but he couldn’t look back. Not now. Not when he was like this.
He slammed the dining-room door behind him, his steps flashing through the hallway, as a couple of maids flanked against the sidewalls to give him some space. Then, zigzagging through lengthy asphyxiating corridors using purely his memory—his eyes still seeing merely a haze of what was present—he found himself drifting toward the door to Maddie’s room.
It was all still on his conscience.
It was his mistake. He truly was the Cursed Duke.
