Page 87 of How to Tempt a Duke

It was the one thing he knew he could do in his life that would have made his father proud.

“I shall endeavor to keep my morals intact,” he replied slowly, diplomatically.

“And if they cannot be kept intact?” she pressed. “How great is your desire to possess the stone?”

Again, he hesitated, hating this part of himself, hating the burden of his father’s dying wish.

“Did you ask Evander if you could use the key on the journal?” She resumed the task of pulling pins from her hair and unraveling her long, glossy hair.

“I didn’t bring the key with me.”

The pin in Eleanor’s hand pinged onto the table.

“This trip was about our wedding.” He put his hand to her shoulder.

“We ought to return to London soon, then.” She gave him a cool glance over her shoulder. “So that you might get the key and have your journey underway. And Mother will want to know Evander is safe.”

Charles said nothing. How could he when a fire burned in the pit of his stomach? Eleanor had not asked him not to leave, and yet he knew she did not want him to go. It would be on him to make the decision to stay in London, and he could not do that. Not when he was so close to redeeming himself with his father.

Except he would have to do it knowing that in making good on his father’s dying wish he would be hurting the woman he cared about more than any other.

It was not only the aggravated silence between Lottie and Evander that was growing in the carriage upon their drive back to London—there was a length of silence between Eleanor and Charles as well.

Eleanor knew it to be of her own making. After all, when she’d agreed to marry him she’d known he would be going after the Coeur de Feu, no matter the cost.

Why, then, did she feel so hollow inside when she thought of him leaving?

It was more than just the possibility that he might have to employ immoral practices to get the stone. It was the idea of being left alone. Again. Every man in her life had left her to experience the world. She had subsisted as they’d lived.

And it would be happening again with Charles.

She’d anticipated that the empty feeling would dissipate, but it had only grown like a festering wound inside her, hot and red and raw with powerful emotion.

And while Eleanor had tried to convince herself that she could keep her heart guarded, its pathetic leap every time her eyes lit on his handsome face suggested otherwise. Which was why it was better to cut her emotions to the quick and rely on older, safer habits—the habits that protected her from feeling.

Finally, after a tense and interminable ride back to London, and dropping Lottie at her town house, they returned to Westix Place so that Eleanor and Charles could offer their apologies to her mother. And witness Evander’s homecoming.

By the time they made their way up the steps Edmonds was already pulling the door open. He looked first in surprise at Eleanor, then glowered at Charles. But when his gaze caught on Evander his mouth fell open, and the older man could only stare before stammering out an acceptable welcome.

No sooner had they crowded into the receiving room than the Countess approached, fanning herself to ward off an apparent flash of heat. “Eleanor Susan Murray, you—”

Her mother stopped, and the fan fell from her hand and dropped to the marble floor with an audible smack. Her fingers trembled where they hung in midair before coming to rest on her partially opened mouth.

“Dear God... Evander.” She blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “My son.”

She reached for a small table near the wall to brace herself and missed.

Evander caught her before she could fall. “Forgive me my prolonged absence, Mother.”

She gave a choked sound, as if it had been wrenched from the depths of her soul, and then touched his face, her fingers shaking. “It’s you. It’s truly you, my sweet boy. You’ve come home. You’re...safe.”

She turned away abruptly and the room was filled with the soft gasps of her weeping.

Evander put his arm around their mother’s slender shoulders. “I won’t be going away again. I’ve accumulated enough wealth—we shall not have to worry for generations to come.”

“I don’t care about the fortune. My children...both of whom I’d thought lost forever...have returned.”

The Countess looked to Eleanor and held one arm out to her daughter. Eleanor took her mother’s hand and found herself pulled into the extremely rare embrace of her family.