Chapter 8
Eleanor snuggled into her down, linen-covered pillow, enjoying the surprising warmth of a London summer. Even in August in the Highlands, the nights warranted a good blanket. Here, one could lounge about quite pleasantly in a shift in the solace of one’s room.
While she loved the history of the castle, she couldn’t deny that she wore a good deal of clothes merely to avoid turning blue within its walls.
She blinked, realizing she’d come out of a deep slumber and the most vivid dream. Anthony Burke had invaded her dreams, his hand outstretched, beckoning her towards him. His shirt had been open at the throat. A bed had been in the background, the sheets rumpled.
And somehow, she knew that they had been in those sheets.
She felt languid, her limbs easy, heavy, as if she’d been completely comfortable.
Swallowing, she bit down on her lower lip. How could she have dreamed something so intimate? So—
She looked to the window and stilled. The lace curtains were parted.
She hadn’t done that. Could a breeze have done such a thing?
“Lady Eleanor?”
She yelped and twisted to the shadows near her tall armoire.
Anthony Burke, Duke of Ayr, stood in the darkness.
She scrambled up into a sitting position, blood pumping wildly.
“Forgive me,” he said quietly, that delicious voice of his, soft. “But I had to see you before we wed and after long consideration, I decided this was the only way. Since you are always out.”
She gaped at him then swung her gaze to the window. “How did you get in?”
“The window,” he stated simply.
She thought of the drop from the ledge. She was on the third floor. “But how could you—”
Even in the darkness, she could see his half-smile as he said, “You don’t want to know.”
“I do,” she corrected, pulling up the linen sheet.
“I’ve climbed ship rigging most of my life.” He shrugged. “A townhouse wall with a tree growing next to it really wasn’t so very difficult.”
She groaned then braced her head in her hands. She looked up at him. “I have a terrible feeling you’ve done this before.”
There, there it was. That lazy, dangerous smile that did things to her she didn’t fully understand.
“I confess not,” he replied. “Though, perhaps, I should have tried it.”
“Good for escaping angry husbands,” she said tightly.
“I’ve never angered a husband,” he countered, stepping from the shadows.
She narrowed her eyes. “I have trouble believing that.”
“Believe what you must, but I’ve done my best to cause little pain in this world.”
That stopped her. How many could say that? How many men? Not too many, she’d wager.
“Do you wish me to go?” he asked. “I will. I don’t wish to upset you.”
She blew out a derisive breath. “It’s too late for that.”
He had the good grace to wince. “I could have waited until you were walking up the aisle to see you, I suppose.”
Glancing away, embarrassed, she muttered, “I- I should have accepted your call.”
“Yes, you should have,” he replied plainly. “I half-wondered if you were going to call it off.”
“That is not what I plan.” How had she let it get so far? She’d avoided his first call but had planned to see him once she’d gathered herself. Something about that last meeting had stirred feelings of longing deep inside her. It was a longing for family that she thought had been buried years ago. But then. . . She couldn’t face him. Couldn’t face how their meeting had rocked her to her core.
“I’m relieved.”
She wondered. Was he truly? Surely, he longed for a different sort of woman than she? A lovable woman. A woman who would worship him as he was no doubt accustomed to. A woman who had not vowed to never love.
“Is that what you wished to know?” she asked. Eleanor sat up straight and pulled the bed linen all the way up to her chin.
“I suppose. But now, I must ask again if I offended you in some way.” A perplexed look, almost a boyish one, softened his face. “I thought we had a rather nice day with my stepmother and sister.”
Too nice. How could she explain that? The simple truth was she had been alarmed by how easy it had been to be in his company at Kew. She’d enjoyed it greatly for the most part and she did not wish to enjoy it. And then there had been seeing him with his family. It had. . . Brought up so many memories of her own lost parents and the little girl she had once been, so full of joy and promise.
She wished to be his wife but without feeling anything for him. She had most definitely felt something for him and she couldn’t have that. No, she did not wish to have the pain of the past brought to her mind again or chance pain in her future. So, she’d decided to embrace a physical distance.
“No,” she said softly. “You have not and it wasna well done of me,” she admitted. “But I have been very busy with fittings and. . . And. . .”
“You were avoiding me,” he said without apology.
“Aye,” she agreed.
“Why?” he asked. “Am I so very terrible?”
She rolled her eyes but realized he was asking in earnest. She clutched the linen, willing herself to reply honestly. “You have caused me some consternation.”
His brows shot up. “Oh?”
“You are not at all what I imagined my husband to be and I have required time to get used to that.”
He stood still, just the gentle breeze coming in through the window teasing his dark hair. “I see.”
She doubted he saw at all. But she wasn’t going to illuminate to him that he was a far better man than she’d thought and that she liked him. That she’d needed time to gather herself and remind herself of the promise she’d made on that rampart.
“Now, would you mind climbing back down the wall?” She waved to the window. “It is said to be unlucky to see the bride on the day of the wedding before the ceremony.”
“You will be there?”
She scowled. “Yes, Ayr. I’ll be there. Now, off you go. Lest someone hear you.”
“What scandal could we cause?” he teased, as he seemed always wont to do. “We’re to be married.”
“Unlike you, I dunna cause scandals,” she pointed out. “And best you remember that.”
He nodded, though he didn’t seem particularly relieved.
Stepping forward, he started for the window but then he hesitated and slowly faced her.
The moonlight shone in through the window, casting his strong body in a silver glow.
Her breath caught in her throat. He was so unbelievably beautiful. His dark hair caressed his high cheekbones. His sensual mouth seemed to beg for her to kiss it. And his body? His hard, strong body was the sort meant for caressing.
His look seared her as he dragged his gaze up her barely-covered body.
“I’d like to kiss you,” he said softly.
She inched back up on the bed as if he’d suggested murder.
His face shuttered then, that beautifully, open face. Her reaction had done that.
He nodded once. “I’ll go then.”
He started for the window, easily grabbing hold of the frame, already half out of it.
“Wait!” she called, sotto voce.
He stilled, perching on the sill with remarkable grace.
“You may kiss me,” she said quietly, marveling at her own words and the fact that she was relenting so easily. Surely, it was a terrible idea. A terrible but necessary idea.
But she wished for him to attend their wedding. And the way his face looked just then had been as terrible as if she’d driven a knife into his heart.
She didn’t wish him to think she hated him. Not the day before their wedding.
Slowly, he turned with a sad look on his face. “I’ve never been kissed out of pity before.”
How did he know? Well, it wasn’t entirely pity. She was attracted to her future husband. There was no denying it. Every part of her body seemed completely aware of his very male presence and her body called out to him, even if her mind and heart did not.
She licked her lips, so determined to resolve this. “That’s not—”
“Don’t lie to me, Eleanor,” he replied in a hoarse, firm whisper. “I’m not a fool, even if you seem to think I might be.”
“I—” She winced. She had thought him nothing more than a pretty shirt. His ability to read so deeply into her behavior was stunning. In all her life, no one had ever looked beneath her icy surface. . . Except one. One other person, and she’d given her heart to that person. That had turned out with nothing but pain.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he said. There was nothing of the bright, hopeful man she’d seen in the garden about him any longer.
“Ayr?” she called out.
But before she could further her cause, he’d swept out the window and jumped into the dark night.
She gasped at the ease of his escape.
Vaulting from her bed, she stormed to the window and stuck her head out.
He’d shimmied down the tall oak and hit the ground in one solid landing.
Good Lord, he was something. In all her life, she’d never met a man so free, so wild, so unfettered by society’s expectations.
And she felt admiration. A stirring of unbridled admiration for him and his ways.
As he walked down through the garden, heading towards the park, she studied his strong stride.
Even in seeming defeat, he walked like a god amongst mere mortals.
She’d rejected her future husband and made him feel as though she found him to be appalling.
Her throat tightened.
How could she do what he needed and keep her distance? She drank in the flower-scented air, and girded herself. She could do it. She had to. Her future depended on it.