Page 38 of To Steal a Duchess

To speak so boldly and casually…

How?

Certainly, Eloise could not hear it in such a nonchalant manner, and heat flooded her skin. She fought not to look downward at Dorian, at the part of the body he referred to.

But it was Dorian’s breath that grew labored as though he noticed, and he crossed an ankle over his knee. Eloise tried not to look at the motion, as though he wished to draw her attention there to tease her.

Still, she felt the burn of his gaze on her.

Instead, she peered down at her wine glass before having a small mouthful. Her hesitation was too obvious, and she half-expected Dorian to cut their conversation short and retire for the night.

Instead, he set down his glass and leaned forward, his hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees.

“When I came into my title as the Duke of Oldcliff, I was lost. For the first year, I floundered, going back and forth obsessively, trying to amend the wrongs my father had spread through the dukedom. There were so many, and I had no idea what to do. I had support, of course. My stewards, housekeeper, butler… but I did not have someone I could truly confide in, someone I could let down my personal guard around.

“At the time, I was carrying a lot on my shoulders, and not just as the duke. One day, utterly frustrated with myself over a dinner party I had ruined—because while I had been raised as a duke’s son, my father had not given me the proper lessons I needed to be a duke—I ventured out into Oldcliff village and found this quiet tavern. It was almost closing time, but the barkeep let me in when he found out who I was.”

Eloise held her breath, just trying to listen, knowing how it felt to have such a weight on one’s shoulders. Knowing what it was like to bear the pressure of a parent’s expectation.

Dorian smiled a little as he continued.

“There, in the corner of the tavern, was Gideon. He was sitting alone, and he looked as though his world had collapsed. I knew the shape of grief on a man’s face, and, seeking something that wasn’t the rigid, false smiles of the gentry at my failed dinner party, I ended up going over to him. He had just lost his father…”

Dorian stopped speaking for a moment, taking a generous mouthful of his drink as though steeling himself.

Eloise bit her tongue so she did not interrupt nor ask questions, though they burned in her throat at the mention of hearing more about Dorian. She did not dare say anything for she feared she would spook him into not speaking any further. But Dorian only sighed and leaned back further, still ready to keep speaking.

“I had not seen a man look so exhausted by his existence,” Dorian continued.

“What happened?” Eloise prompted when his eyes turned a little vacant, not looking at her anymore. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the cabinet display.

“We sat down together, and we shared a drink. We did not speak of how he looked, or why, and we did not speak of how I understood the way he looked. Instead, we talked as two young men who had inherited more than we were ready for. The next week, we did the same. Week after week, we drank together, speaking of everything that did not hurt.

“Eventually, I was called away from a morning tavern meetup with Gideon to attend an emergency in Oldcliff village. One of the tenants had found a tunnel collapse and his son had not returned home from fetching water. Admittedly, I began to panic, but Gideon stood with me, put his drink down, and simply said, ‘Let us go and help, then. You ought to not be alone in this.’”

Dorian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Eloise thought of what Gideon had said about Dorian earlier: that he was not so talkative, but she realized he was being so now because it meant a lot to her to hear this story. To know what sort of man Gideon was.

And perhaps it meant a lot to him, too.

For the first time, Dorian had pulled back his rigid curtain, dropped his walls, and had revealed himself for the first time to her personally. It wasn’t just about the Captain Vallier story that revealed his passion in words beyond the models, or his friendship with Mr. Brannon.

It was a pure piece of Dorian, and a vulnerable one at that.

Eloise didn’t quite know what to say. Her mouth parted to try to say something to encourage his story, but Dorian held up a hand, not finished.

“We rode out into the village. Gideon was a long way from home, and he had engagements that day, but they minded little to him, not when he wanted to help me. He shed his own duties, and when we got to the well, he was the first man down there to search for the boy. We did find him, injured but all right, and when we were finished, Gideon led me away, spoke with my tenants while I tried to compose myself as a young duke with responsibility for all these people and houses, and he never once blamed me for missing his important appointments that day.

“He showed himself to me as a good friend. He was loyal to what the friendship we were building, and he did not think twice about helping me or the residents of that area of the village. He simply acted. He is truly a good man, and I hope you can find assurance in the fact that he will take care of Lady Nancy.”

Eloise didn’t know what to do with such a long story, with how much he had spoken, nor the earnest tone of his voice, so she nodded, drinking her wine, to give herself a moment.

But Dorian spoke again. “And, in truth, if he hurts her, he will have both of our wraths to endure.” There was that almost-smile again on his mouth as he finished his drink. “Come, we must retire.”

“Dor—Your Grace,” Eloise interrupted. “I—” She stopped again, setting down her glass after she, too, finished it. “Nancy truly is my best friend, and has been like a sister to me since we met as debutantes. We have gone through a great deal together, and I… I truly cannot see her hurt.”

“And she will not be,” Dorian promised.