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Hermina’s face softened. “Is it something I can help with?”
Eleanor shook her head, unable to speak. She did not fully trust her own reactions regarding Lucien, even as she tried her best to understand them. Hermina slanted her a dubious glance but made no reply. Eleanor excused herself and ran up the stairs to her chamber, where she tumbled onto the bed, hugging a pillow tightly to her chest.
I long for you.
She couldn’t stop picturing the way he’d stared at her the first time they’d kissed. As if she was something wonderful. After reading such a letter, attending Lady Prescott’s ball felt reckless and silly, yet not seeing him already felt like the keenest sort of regret.
Oh, what am I to really do?
She’s here.
Lucien’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath. Raw hunger leaped unchecked inside his heart and ran amok through his body. His reaction was a moment of sheer revelation. He wanted Miss Eleanor Fairbanks more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. How could he have fallen half in love with her when they had only exchanged several letters? Thirteen letters from her in total he had received in the last week. Each one infused with just a peek of her sweet yet feisty character, each word tugging closer and closer to this madness called love.
Ollie said this was merely an obsession for what did they did know of love. While Lucien had never loved another lady, he damn well knew this was the beginning of it. Nay, he was in the middle, and he wanted her with him to the end and beyond.
That she was here tonight after getting the last letter was another revelation.
I long for you.
He’d known she would either run or attend. However, to attend would be an admittance that she felt a similar yearning…that she wanted him too. Lucien stood by a large column and discreetly watched her in the crowded space. Eleanor stood in a sea of people in the ballroom, smiling at a young gentleman who spoke to her in earnest. How lovely she appeared in a rose-colored gown with a modest decolletage which still gave the impression of shimmering sensuality. Her black hair was caught up in a riot of curls, with several artfully kissing her cheeks and shoulders with each movement. He observed as that gentleman took her to the dancefloor, and Lucien found himself smiling each time her mouth curved or the few times she allowed herself to laugh with her mouth open.
He stood there, surrounded by so much laughter and facile chatter yet feeling inexplicably alone. This was not his world. It would never be. Yet he could not force his feet to move away and leave this damnable place. He wanted just a moment with her, and he would be satisfied for this night.
She danced with three more gentlemen before she started to make the rounds with a few other ladies that could only be her sisters. They all shared an extraordinary beauty. He noted that Eleanor glanced around the ballroom several times, searching for someone. At times she would look outside the closed terrace windows and into the unexpected rain that still had not eased.
Did she look for him?
Somehow her gaze met his, and she stilled, her lips parting slightly. The ladies around her continued their chattering, but Lucien sensed that all of Eleanor’s awareness was upon him. She glanced away, smiled at something her sister said, then made her way over to him. For a shocking moment, he thought she meant to approach him here, but she only came alarmingly close and stood with her back to him.
“You are outrageous,” she whispered, not looking around.
“You are beautiful.”
There was a noticeable hitch in her breathing.
“You got my letter.”
“Yes.”
“And you still came.”
This time her sigh was ragged.
“Yes. Though I cannot imagine what madness possessed me,” she said softly.
The desire that curled through him at that shaky whisper tinged with longing felt too visceral. He did not want to frighten her away from him. Ever. He wanted to draw her closer, so they might explore whatever this was between them. Eleanor inspired dreams of tangled sweaty limbs, twisted sheets, and heated cries, but it was also more than just a physical attraction. He liked her. Lucien wanted to take her on long walks in the countryside, dance beneath the stars or in a ballroom, eat dinner together and observe as delight chased her features whenever she ate something delicious. “Will you dance with me?”
“It is raining in the gardens.”
“What if I should ask you to dance here?”
Her shoulders stiffened and he went cold. For several moments neither made a reply, and the gaiety of the ballroom swirled around them.
“While I was warned to never dance with you, I understand that it is a rule of good conduct and etiquette that if a gentleman asks a lady to dance, it would be impolite and discourteous to refuse. Bordering on scandalous actually. That means it must be perfectly permissible for me to say yes.”
Lucien made a wry, disbelieving noise. “Ah, but I am no gentleman; surely there will be no expectations for you to accept my hand,” he said drolly, even as a heavy weight entered his heart. He had tried his damnedest as he fell a little more under her charming spell not to think about how far socially she stood from him. “You might be celebrated for giving me the cut direct.”
“I wish it was not so,” she said in a stricken tone. “Perhaps you exaggerate the matter.”
