Page 42 of To Steal a Duchess

Work, and the strongest coffee he could find.

He had more cases to look into, and he had letters to pen to the men who helped Dorian find out exactly what he needed to about a person—how to dig into the shadows of their lives, and dig up the buried things they wanted nobody else to see.

Each case read the same, but Dorian turned off his mind as he read and worked. His letter from Eloise had been the only time he had ever gotten so personal with a client.

His eyes felt vacant. None of them stood out to him, not the way Eloise’s had, and he couldn’t pinpoint why hers had.

What had it been about her that made Dorian want to step up and do something beyond a simple job? The scandal and ruin, of course, but it had not been his responsibility to offer her marriage, yet Dorian had.

Eloise would have known what she risked when she asked him to ruin her first wedding ceremony.

Assessing his stack of letters that had been forwarded from his townhouse—for Dorian’s reputation as a man who could find anything out about anyone was well known—he recalled the day he had opened Eloise’s pleading letter.

Please, she had written, I beseech you with a promise of any payment, anything in return, to find something that could grant me an exit from my impending marriage to Lord Sarling. It must be public, so he will be forced to step away from me without putting blame on my own choices.

“Why her?” Dorian had mused.

He had delivered plenty of information to desperate brides-to-be, and even men who were becoming husbands. He had gotten enough people out of disastrous matches, or business deals, or any sort of connection.

So why had Eloise struck him enough that he had agreed to publicly ruin another man?

Lord Sarling had very much deserved it, but Dorian often kept his work quiet, and the results even quieter, giving only what a person would need to confront whoever they needed to.

And yet…

Yet Eloise had begged for a public reveal, and now she was his wife.

Dorian sighed and turned to his letters. “Why you?” he asked again, trying not to think of his wife’s face.

“I must admit, I am still trying to get used to calling Gideon his given name, and not his proper title, but he has all but insisted since very early in our acquaintance,” Nancy said, sat in the plush, wide armchair adjacent to Eloise’s in the music room.

“He is smitten with you.” Eloise smiled, stirring sugar cubes into her tea. “That much is clear, so it does not surprise me he has removed too much formality. He wishes to get to know you beyond all these social barriers. I think that is rather romantic.”

“Oh, I do, too,” Nancy giggled, one leg crossed over the other, completely at ease.

She had her elbow propped up on the side of the armchair, and a bright light shone from her eyes.

“It is just a strange thing to remember when we are around the likes of my family. Going from casual to proper gets confusing at times.”

She sighed, falling back into her chair.

“Heavens, I cannot wait to be married. Gideon has told me so much about Langford Village. He says there is a lake that has almost been forgotten throughout the years, and it is down a slope past a beautiful oak tree that burns orange in the autumn. But the lake, he says, looks silver when the moon is bright enough.” Her voice lowered. “He says that is the first place he wants to take me on our first afternoon as a wedded couple. We will have no wedding breakfast, though. My father would be too tired, and I do not wish for a lot of fuss. I simply want to be with my husband, so we are preparing a picnic for the lake to celebrate together, alone.”

“It all sounds terribly beautiful, Nancy,” Eloise said, exhaling wistfully. She tried to keep her longing out of the sound, but she knew her expression said enough otherwise.

“Goodness.” Nancy clucked her tongue. “Here I am, chattering on about myself! I apologize for getting so distracted, my dear. Tell me now what I asked you before: How is your marriage going? I did sense a bit of tension last night over dinner, especially when you mentioned it had been your first one together. Is that truly correct?”

“Do you remember before I left for the church on my wedding day to the duke?” Eloise asked, and Nancy nodded. “You were certain he had chosen my dress because he had noticed my figure. That he had chosen that shaped gown for a reason. You also were quite sure he would want to know who I am. Yet he has barely looked at me, and can hardly hold a conversation with me that does not end in bickering of some sort. Or at least getting under each other’s skin.”

“Ah,” Nancy hummed. “Gideon mentioned this last night. When we parted at our rooms, he said it again that perhaps it is a good thing. For the duke, at least.”

“Yes, but if we are so busy doing that, whether intention or not, how are we ever to have a conversation where we both learn about one another? I understand it has been a convenient marriage that has saved me from ruin, but surely I can at least get to know him? He is a fortress, and he is guarded by all these rules and rigidness that I cannot hope to scale in order to know what lies beyond.”

“Eloise,” Nancy said softly, reaching out to place her hand on her knee. “He does look at you, you know? There were times when you were speaking to Gideon, or looking down at your plate, that he looked at you. He looks as you as though you are equally guarded and he cannot understand you, either.”

“I am not a closed book,” Eloise told her, almost defensive for herself. “I have tried to speak to him, especially when I found out we have some things in common. I have yearned for the sea my entire life, have loved water, and studied maps and ships, and everything in between. He has an interest in such things too, but… Well, I am trying to embrace the freedom I’ve been promised, but Dorian… he is confusing. I don’t know how or if I should even trust his promise of freedom. I would love to simply sit down with him and even as light as ask what his favorite type of ship is, to know what his favorite traveling destination has been, to know if he would ever write a travel book of his own.”

Nancy squeezed her knee lightly, her brow not pinching in sympathy, but she nodded instead, knowing Eloise’s frustration.