Chapter Nineteen
Pacing the familiar length of the salon, Sorin was more nervous than he had ever been in his life. He’d tiptoed out at dawn to walk the short distance to Charles’s house, something he hadn’t done since before his days at university. But he had needed to get out before Mother awakened—before she could hear of his disgraceful conduct last night and panic over the unfolding disaster. He would explain everything to her later, after it was done.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting. I came as soon as I could get away,” said Charles, coming in. “What brings you here so early? Has Yarborough been arrested?”
He’d forgotten all about that, actually. “It should be happening as we speak, but my visit is not about that.” His gut tightened at the perplexed look on his friend’s face. “I can see the gossip has not yet reached you. I’m glad. I wanted to tell you myself.”
“Tell me what?” Charles shook his head. “What gossip? Bloody hell!” he exclaimed as he came closer. “What happened to your face?”
Sorin put a hand to his sore, purpling jaw. “It’s nothing. Charles, I’ve done something that I fear will have significant consequences for all of us.” He took a deep breath. “Last night while Marston and I were at the club, Yarborough came in and began speaking ill of Eleanor to his fellows. I’m afraid I quite lost my temper.”
Charles frowned. “I don’t…” Comprehension dawned across his features. “You hit him.”
Though he tried to dredge up a modicum of remorse for his actions, Sorin couldn’t fool himself and wouldn’t attempt to fool his best friend. “I laid him out on the floor in front of nearly a dozen witnesses,” he said unabashedly. “I challenged him, but the coward refused to face me. He offered a full apology for the insult. I accepted. It’s done.”
Quick as lightning, his friend’s bewilderment turned to anger. “The man is going to prison this morning!” he spluttered. “Could you not have held your peace for one bloody night? No one would have believed him! But now—you should have walked away and let him be!”
The very idea made Sorin’s blood hot all over again. “To do so would have been to let his lies go unchallenged and let everyone think I cared nothing for her honor!”
“Her honor was not yours to defend!” snapped Charles, his face reddening. “But now everyone will assume otherwise!”
“Believe me, I know what a bloody mess this makes of things, Charles!” He lowered his voice. “Which is why I’ve come to ask for her hand. At least as my wife, Eleanor will be safe from the storm that is about to break.”
“A storm of your making!” accused his friend, jabbing an angry finger at him. “None of this would be happening had you simply kept to the plan. Your plan!”
“I’m keenly aware that the fault is mine, and I will do everything I can to minimize the damage,” Sorin vowed. “A marriage will help. We are, after all, already well-associated in Society’s eyes.”
“If she’ll agree to it,” said Charles, clearly doubtful.
“She must. And for more reason than just her reputation.” He stood before his closest friend and steeled himself. It was time. “I’d hoped to woo her slowly over the course of the Season, but now everything has gone wrong and there is simply no more time.”
“Woo her? What the devil do you mean, ‘woo her’?” Charles’s wroth expression transformed to one of profound shock. “Are y—are you in love with Eleanor?”
Sorin forced himself to meet his eyes. “I’ve tried to deny my feelings for her, but my efforts have proven ineffectual. I did everything in my power to stop it, Charles. I even left England. At the time, travel was a welcome escape from the torment of watching her succumb, as I thought she surely must, to some other man’s charm. But year after year I waited for the news that never came, until I finally had no choice but to return.”
“Upon my word,” whispered Charles with wide eyes. “I think I need a brandy.” Rising, he went to the decanter and poured out a glass. He downed it, and then poured himself another. Lifting the decanter, he offered his guest a glass.
“Thank you, but no,” Sorin responded, feeling slightly queasy. “I had enough last night to have lost my taste for it today.”
Charles came and sat back down. “Why the devil did you not say something before now?”
“I did not wish to put a strain on our friendship, especially after you entrusted me to act as her chaperone.” A trust which he’d broken in the most flagrant manner possible.
A frown again creased Charles’s brow. “Though I admit to being displeased by the deception, I understand why you felt it necessary. But surely you must know I would not have objected to your suit. Eleanor could ask for no better match, in my opinion.”
“That is exactly what I told him,” said Rowena, entering the room.
“You knew of this?” said Charles with unconcealed hurt.
She entered and closed the door behind her. “I began to suspect it during our journey to London, but I learned the truth of it only a short time ago.”
“And yet you shared neither your suspicion nor its confirmation with me,” her husband said grimly.
“Don’t blame her,” Sorin told him. “I made her promise not to tell anyone, including you. I felt it only right that I should be the one to inform you of my intent. As to why I waited to do so, I could not risk Eleanor learning of my true sentiments prematurely.”
“As she would have done had you begun dropping ‘helpful’ hints,” cut in Rowena, patting her husband’s arm. “I offered to speak with her on his behalf, as well, but he made me swear not to say anything that might influence her.”
“Why?” asked Charles, baffled. “We would have been glad to intercede on your behalf. I’ve no doubt it would have been an easy matter to convince her to accept you—she adores you already.”
“As a friend only,” Sorin clarified bitterly. “I wanted to wait until I’d had the opportunity to make her see me as more.”
“Yes, well, as you’ve said, time has run out,” his best friend pointed out.
“Charles.” Rowena stared at him, one brow arched in silent command.
Closing his eyes, her husband passed a hand over his face. “Of course. Yes. I give you leave to ask for Eleanor’s hand.”
“Thank you,” Sorin replied, every bone and sinew atremble with relief. He sat in the nearest chair and tried to gather his wits. “I’ve so dreaded telling you the truth. In all honesty, I was unsure how you’d react.”
The look Charles directed at him was one of compassion. “Daft fool. You ought to have known better. I’ve considered you family almost from the day we met.”
Sorin found speech impossible at the moment, so he nodded. Taking a deep breath, he marshaled his self-control. “Now I must decide how to tell Eleanor.” If telling Charles had been hard, telling her would be bloody awful.
“A word of advice, if I may,” said Rowena, her eyes boring into his. “Under the circumstances, she has little choice but to accept you. But if you declare yourself now, at least she’ll know your proposal is more than just a matter of honor. Tell her the truth.”
Rowena was right. Come what may, it was time. He nodded.
“I’ll go and get her,” she said, rising.
Feeling like a leaf caught on the surface of a rushing river, Sorin watched her leave. His fate was out of his hands now. All he could do was hope.
Charles looked at him for a long moment. “You know, I’d venture to say your worries are needless.”
“What? Why?”
His friend’s face was wry. “Because at one point I thought I might have to speak to Eleanor about you. She pestered you so when she was younger, always hanging at your elbow, full of endless prattle. Everything was ‘Sorin said this’ or ‘Sorin did that.’ She practically worshipped you. I thought it would diminish as she grew older and made other friends, and it did, to some extent. But not nearly enough. I worried that you would be bothered by it, but you never seemed to mind.”
“No. I never minded,” Sorin replied, smiling fondly. “Our friendship has always been a natural and easy one. If I was overly tolerant, it was because I knew how much she needed someone to just listen.” He looked at Charles. “You must believe that I never intended anything more than friendship. When I realized my feelings had begun to change, I fled on the fastest ship I could find.”
“She was devastated when you left,” said Charles, shaking his head. “Such that I was concerned she’d developed the sort of tendre dramatic young ladies sometimes do for an older gentleman in their acquaintance. But after we returned from London her melancholy seemed to ease. I introduced her to every young man we knew, hoping one of them would catch her eye. But none did, and I could not understand it.” He fixed Sorin with a piercing gaze. “Now I begin to wonder if I was right after all and she already had her heart set on someone else.”
The temperature in the room climbed a notch, and Sorin debated confiding in him that Eleanor had been comparing those other men to him. He elected against it. She’d included Charles as part of her comparison criteria, after all, and she certainly hadn’t given him any reason to believe that he was viewed any differently than her cousin. With one exception. And that event was not something he cared to divulge to Charles. Ever. “If so, then she concealed it from me.” He shifted nervously. “Charles, I will not impose myself on her against her wishes.”
His friend flushed to the roots of his hair. “You cannot make such a promise. Not when you both love her and require an heir.”
“I won’t sacrifice her happiness for my own,” Sorin insisted, vowing it to himself at the same time. “I’ve controlled myself thus far. I can do so forever, as long as she is happy.”
His friend chuckled. “If there is one thing I’ve learned from marriage, it is that a wife is never content unless she owns her husband body and soul. And a husband in love with his wife is never satisfied with less than his love returned fully.”
“He did what?” Eleanor sat abruptly as flashes of heat and cold warred with each other across the battlefield of her flesh.
“Shh!” hissed Caroline, hurrying to close the door. She lowered her voice yet further, so that it was barely above a whisper. “I overheard one of the footmen say he’d heard it from his sister who works as a maid for Lady Wincanton that Lord Wincanton came to blows with Yarborough last night at his club. And now he’s here—before breakfast!—asking to speak with your cousin.”
It couldn’t be true. “Are you absolutely certain the footman was not speaking of someone else?” Her heart seemed to pause as one fiery brow lifted in answer. She bit her lip. “Yarborough must have said something truly vile.”
“I know not what prompted Lord Wincanton’s violent reaction, but whatever the circumstances leading up to the event, I think we can be assured of what will follow,” said Caroline with a mischievous smirk. “Any moment now, you’ll be summoned so that he may ask for your hand.”
Eleanor suppressed a sudden urge to run downstairs to find out if it was true. Guilt and excitement mingled, making her head throb as her heart began to gallop. She folded her shaking hands in her lap to prevent giving away just how anxious she was. “That would be most inconvenient,” she said, struggling to project outward detachment.
“Inconvenient?”
“Yes. Inconvenient. For I should be forced to refuse him.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “Why? You love him, do you not?”
Stunned, Eleanor could formulate no reply to the blunt—and very accurate—assertion.
“I began to suspect the truth some time ago,” said Caroline, her blue eyes full of compassion. “But I was not certain until the night I discovered you crying. As one who has suffered a broken heart, I know another when I see it. By the bye, mine is mended.”
Eleanor looked askance at her. “The letter?”
Caroline nodded, her cheeks flaring with color. “It was an apology—a very good one. I’m no longer wroth with him. In fact, I’m quite ready to apologize for my part in our long misunderstanding and accept his offer of marriage. He plans to visit later this week to formally ask for my hand.”
“Oh, Caroline, I’m so pleased for you,” Eleanor said, setting aside her own troubles for a moment to hug her friend. It had been a long time coming, and she was truly glad to see it finally happen.
“Thank you—Ellie, I hope you won’t make the same mistake I did and assume the worst,” said Caroline, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “A broken heart is not something you’ll want to live with in perpetuity. I barely survived mine.”
Embarrassment loosened Eleanor’s tongue. “You may have come to an understanding with Lord Marston, but that does not make you an expert in all matters of love,” she retorted. “My heart is not broken!”
“Perhaps not yet entirely, but it is certainly beginning to crack,” her friend shot back. “And there is little point in denying the cause.” A wry smile curled her lips. “You’ve allowed very few gentlemen close enough to elicit such strong emotions.”
Eleanor’s determination crumbled, bringing both a sense of relief as well as great pain. The secret she’d held so close to her heart was finally a secret no more, but it made no difference. “If he asks for my hand, it will be because he feels it is the honorable thing to do. It won’t be because he wants me,” she said, mortified to find herself crying. Taking out a kerchief, she blotted her eyes. “I’m naught but a child to him—a sort of y-younger sister,” she said through her tears.
Caroline just stared at her with wide eyes. “Not to be vulgar,” she said slowly, “but he will eventually require an heir. So even if you are correct about his indifference, which I cannot help but doubt, I’m sure you’ll manage to convince him to do his duty. In fact, I might even venture to say he’ll be—”
A knock interrupted her, and the door opened to reveal Rowena. “Please excuse me, ladies, but I’m afraid this cannot wait. Eleanor, I need to speak with you privately. Now.”
Caroline rose and, casting Eleanor a final encouraging look that did nothing to lift her spirits, left the room.
Rowena came and sat down beside her. “I’d hoped to be the one to tell you, but I can see that Caroline has once again managed to beat me to the mark.”
Before she could stop herself, Eleanor burst into sobs. Rowena’s arms closed about her shoulders, and she surrendered, letting loose the flood she’d been holding back. When the worst of the tempest had passed, she pulled away, her eyes sore and her heart heavy.
“I thought you would be happy,” said Rowena, clearly taken aback.
Happy? How could she be happy knowing that Sorin would resent her for the rest of his life? A fresh wave of tears gushed forth.
“My dear child,” murmured Rowena. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am that it had to happen in this manner. I know this is hardly the way any woman wants to find out she is to marry, but the scandal will die down soon. And more importantly, you’ll be wed to a good man who truly cares for you.”
“I would rather remain unwed and suffer the scandal than be forced into a passionless union,” Eleanor blurted with a loud hiccup.
Rowena’s brow furrowed. “Passionless?”
“Yes, passionless. If he asks for my hand, I shall refuse him.”
“Eleanor! You cannot—”
“I can,” she insisted. “I have my inheritance. I’ll go somewhere far away and live quietly so as not to bring further shame on you and Charles, but I will not force my friend to marry someone he does not desire!”
Rising, Eleanor fled the room over Rowena’s fading protestations, unwilling to hear another word. She needed to compose herself and marshal her strength before seeing Sorin. Refusing him would be the most difficult challenge she’d ever face, but face it she must, and with as much dignity as she could muster.
Caroline’s room was mercifully vacant when she entered it. Going to the wash basin, she poured some water into the bowl and splashed her face. The mirror on the wall revealed her frightful state as she blotted herself dry and tried to pat her hair smooth. There was nothing to be done about her red, puffy eyes, but circumstances being what they were, she supposed tears wouldn’t be unexpected.
Still, it would upset Sorin to see her cry.
She stared at her reflection. “I will control myself,” she whispered to herself. “It’s only for a little while longer. For his sake. Just long enough to free him. Then I can fall apart at my leisure knowing I’ve done the right thing. I won’t let him sacrifice himself on the altar of my honor.”
But if I do, he’ll be mine, the wicked part of her replied.
Sorin did care for her, after all—enough to make him defend her good name at the risk of matrimonial imprisonment. Many marriages were founded on far less, and she would do her best to make him happy. But would it be enough to justify such a selfish act? What if after marrying her he met another Jane? He’d regret his decision and resent her for having trapped him. That he would break his vows was not a concern. The Sorin she knew would never do such a thing. But he might want to, and then he wouldn’t be the Sorin she knew anymore. Could she do that to him?
But he would be mine…
Caroline’s words echoed in her mind. He did have a duty to fulfill. He might not want to consummate the marriage at first, but time would be on her side. And there were ways to persuade even the most reluctant man. Perhaps—provided he met no one else—he might in time come to desire her.
Both paths beckoned. One altruistic, the other, anything but. Both were paved with liberal amounts of dishonesty. Until she chose which to take, she would exist in an unbearable state of limbo.
Leaving Caroline’s room, she made her way to the stairs. Each step felt like a little death, an incremental descent into Hades as she made her slow way down. Pausing outside the door of the salon, she gathered her courage.
This is it.
She opened the door to find both Charles and Sorin waiting for her. Her cousin’s face was inscrutable, but Sorin’s…he looked haggard, as though he’d not slept in days, and there was a nasty bruise along his jaw. Her heart ached at the sight. This was all her fault. If she’d just been clear with Yarborough in the beginning, he would never have pursued her and Sorin would never have felt obligated to defend her.
Both men stood as she entered. She dipped a dutiful curtsy and waited, her heart in her throat, as Sorin bowed.
“Eleanor, Lord Wincanton has requested to speak with you privately,” said Charles, his manner frighteningly formal. “I’ll be waiting in the library.”
Her heart raced as the door shut with a muted click behind him. All the careful words she’d been rehearsing jumbled together on the tip of her tongue and remained there, unable to escape, as Sorin came to stand before her.
“I’m sure Rowena has made you aware of what transpired last night,” he said quietly.
Though her informant had in fact been Caroline, Eleanor nodded.
“Firstly, know that it was only because of my high regard and long affection for you that I acted in such a manner,” he continued, his deep voice rougher than she’d ever heard it, save in her dreams. “Yarborough’s words angered me such that I was drawn beyond the point of considering the consequences you would have to bear for my reaction to them. Please forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said, finding her voice. Silently, she cursed the tears that began to cloud her vision. “By coming to my defense, you did what any true friend would have done.”
He shook his head. “No. Were I a true friend, I would have answered his lies with words rather than brute violence, thereby accomplishing the revelation of truth without condemning you. Instead, I let my heart and my temper overrule all good sense.” He looked down. “I struck him because it was what I wanted. It was purely selfish of me, and now there is only one way to prevent your ruination.”
The blood began to whoosh in her ears. “I beg you not to say another word!” she burst out. “If you care for me at all, you will leave this instant and let the matter play out as it will without interfering—I will not allow you to be punished for defending me!”
“Punished?” He let out a cracked laugh. “If anyone is to suffer for my impetuous behavior, it is you, not I.”
It was both dream and nightmare as he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small gilt box, and dropped to one knee before her. “Eleanor,” he said softly. “I love you—I have for quite some time now. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
Tears ran unchecked down her face, and a great sob lodged in her throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent its escape. The temptation was so great! All she had to do was say ‘yes’ and she’d have everything she wanted.
Except for his heart. He might have said the words, but she knew they could not be true. Already I have corrupted him, caused him to lie on my behalf.
After a moment, she took a deep breath and forced the dreaded words she’d rehearsed past trembling lips. “It is with regret that I must refuse your very kind offer.” She closed her watering eyes and made herself speak the rest before he could object. “You care for me—I know this—but it’s not enough. I cannot allow you to marry me out of some misplaced sense of honor or obligation. Not when you might still marry someone who can truly make you happy as I know I cannot.” Someone like your Jane. She swallowed another sob. “I won’t rob you of that joy.”
“Eleanor, look at me.”
The command was not to be refused, especially when she felt the warm touch of his fingers beneath her chin. She opened her eyes and looked down into his luminous hazel ones, expecting to see relief. Instead, there was a look of such hurt in them that it stole her breath.
“I’ve been dishonest with you for so long,” he said after what seemed an eternity. “Like a coward, I hid my true feelings from you, afraid of how you might react. But no more.”
For an instant, wild hope flared in her breast. But it was quickly snuffed out. “You would say anything to persuade me, to protect me. But I’m not a child to be protected anymore, and I will not be persuaded in this. I release you from any obligation to me, real or imagined.” She turned to leave but his hand shot out to clasp her wrist, holding her in place.
“It’s not an obligation!” he insisted, pulling her back. Taking her hand, he pressed the little box into her palm. “Open it,” he demanded gruffly.
The box’s hard edges pressed into her flesh as she stood there, her throat too tight to speak. Opening it was the last thing she wanted to do. To see the symbol of what might have been could, and probably would, break her will to refuse him.
“Eleanor, please,” he urged gently. “Just look at it—and then I promise I’ll ask nothing more of you unless you wish it.” He released her, leaving behind an invisible, tingling imprint on her skin.
With trembling fingers, she did as he bade and opened the lid. Inside on a nest of freshly picked scarlet rose petals lay a sparkling diamond ring. She frowned. It looked strangely familiar, but it couldn’t be. Instead of diamonds, there were tiny blood-red rubies encircling the central stone. “This cannot be the…”
“It is,” he cut in. “Read the inscription.”
Picking it from amongst the fragrant petals, she brought it close and peered at the tiny words carved inside the golden circle. “The truest love begins in friendship,” she read aloud, her voice breaking on the last word.
“Were you to put it on, I believe you would find it a perfect fit,” he said, bringing his hands up to cup hers. “The proprietor assured me he could gauge a woman’s ring size with a single glance.”
Though she’d not tried it on at the time, Eleanor knew that in addition to the added rubies, this ring had been several sizes too large and there had been no inscription. Realization slowly dawned. “But—that was nearly two months ago,” she whispered in astonishment, her gaze rising to meet his as he stood.
“I went back the next day and commissioned the work, replacing the outer stones and having it resized and engraved in the hope that you would one day wear it as my wife. You, Eleanor. No one else.”
Her knees began to shake so that she felt they might give way beneath her.
“It’s time you knew the truth,” he murmured, his warm fingers stroking hers. “That day I scolded you so assiduously for being too familiar—I did it because I was terrified. My reaction to your embrace was…” He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his cheeks awash with sudden color. “You must understand that I had no warning and no control. In that instant, the affection I’d borne for you since we first met began to transform into something I knew you did not—and thought that you probably never would—reciprocate. I could not bear the thought of losing your friendship and trust because of my shameful desire.”
She knew her mouth was hanging open and didn’t care. It all made sense now. The way he’d subsequently avoided her—or whenever he had been with her, the way he’d behaved with such sternness, always correcting, always criticizing. He’d done it all to distance himself and keep her unaware of his true feelings for her. “That’s why you left!”
A wry smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Yes. That, and the fact that I could not endure the torment of watching you fall in love with and marry someone else, as I thought must surely happen. But running away did no good at all. You followed me with your letters and kept the wound fresh, so to speak. Your heart was in them, and though distance prevented me from exposing myself, it did nothing to stop my love for you growing ever deeper. When I finally returned home and you were yet unwed, I thought I would go mad. It is only because of my mother and good friends that I began to consider trying to find a way to make you see me differently.”
The irony of his admission nearly made her laugh aloud. They’d both been scheming and plotting to change each other’s perception, all the while never guessing their work had already been done.
Taking her hand and easing the ring from between her fingers, he again knelt. “I offer you not only my name, Eleanor, but my heart and my absolute devotion. It is my greatest hope that one day you will return my affection, and I’ll gladly spend the rest of my life in pursuit of that end. Please say that you will marry me.”
If a heart could burst from happiness, then hers was surely in danger of doing so now. “I will,” she finally choked out. “But you should know that you are not the only one to have kept a secret. I’ve been just as guilty as you in that regard.” Laughter broke through her tears at his puzzled expression. “We’ve been so at odds, neither of us knowing the other’s heart for fear of revealing our own! But never again.”
Reaching out, she caressed his face. “I was so accustomed to loving you that I failed to even notice how that love had changed. I think now that I began to realize you were the only man I could ever marry the day you questioned my ‘high standards’.” She moved closer and whispered, “You are not just the example of what I should want in a husband—you are the husband I’ve always wanted.”
A fire kindled in his hazel eyes. With utmost tenderness, he took her hand, kissed it, and then slid the ring onto her third finger. “Then I am yours.” Standing, he took her in his arms.
“I have dreamed of this moment,” she said happily, stroking the back of his neck as he brought her close.
Stiffening suddenly, he drew back.
“What is it? What is wrong?” she asked, fear creeping back into her heart.
“Eleanor, I have another confession to make, one I cannot withhold from you though it will likely forever darken your view of me.” His face and neck reddened. “The night Yarborough drugged you, when I took you home…I’m afraid I took liberties no gentleman sh—”
“It was not a dream!” she blurted, certain now that what she’d thought was wishful thinking had in fact been quite real. “You kissed me!” She hadn’t meant it to sound accusatory, but such was her shock that he had behaved in so bold a manner that it couldn’t be helped.
One corner of his mouth twitched. “Actually, you kissed me first.”
Now it was her turn to blush. Apparently, her concerns about having acted inappropriately with him had been quite valid. “I—you—I did?”
“You really don’t remember?”
She didn’t remember how it all started, but she did know there had been a good deal more than just kissing. He’d touched her in ways no gentleman should ever touch a lady outside the marriage bed. Her cheeks stung, and she knew her entire face must be awash with color.
So much for the proprieties—and after all his lecturing! Despite her outrage, a delicious shiver rippled across her skin as she recalled that night, her wantonness, and his desire.
His desire.
The shiver became a lightning blaze as the realization hit her that love wasn’t all that motivated him to want to marry her. He desires me! Enough that he’d set aside all self-discipline and behaved as no true gentleman would. And she’d liked it. She’d liked it a lot. So much, in fact, that she wanted him to do it again at the earliest opportunity.
After we are married, of course, she corrected herself. …Or at least not until after our engagement has been properly announced.
“You were delirious,” he explained, clearly mistaking her silence for umbrage. “While I was trying to keep you from falling over in the carriage, you kissed me. Quite ardently.” His flush deepened. “I’m ashamed to say that I took advantage of your impassioned state. I thought I might never have another chance, you see,” he rushed on. “Had you recalled the incident the following day, I would have asked for your hand at once, but you seemed to have lost all memory of it—and all desire for me. I thought the drug responsible for your actions, and I did not wish to impose on you, if I was not truly wanted.”
Oh, she’d wanted him. And in her compromised condition, she’d had no qualms about letting him know it. And he wants me! The wicked part of her rejoiced. Stretching up, Eleanor put her lips close by his ear. “My dear Lord Wincanton, when we are married you may impose upon me as often as you please, and I can promise you will suffer no complaint from me.”
The bold words set her cheeks aflame all over again, and for a moment she worried that she might have stepped beyond the bounds of propriety—even for a fiancée who’d already been compromised by her intended.
Saint Jane would certainly never have acted so brazenly…but then I doubt he ever behaved with her the way he did with me. Her concerns vanished an instant later as her husband-to-be leaned down and took her mouth in a sweet, molten kiss that sent rivers of heat snaking down into her belly.
No, she wasn’t Jane. She wasn’t meek or mild, and patience wasn’t her strongest suit. She often spoke her mind, and while she’d learned modesty and propriety, there were times when they could and ought to be set aside. Now was just such a time.
Reveling in the solidity of Sorin’s impassioned embrace, Eleanor leaned into him and allowed herself to be swept away.
Propriety be damned!