Page 45 of To Steal a Duchess

Dorian’s handwriting.

She took one step toward a countertop, one of the many planks of wood nailed into the lighthouse room’s wall, but she stopped at the heavy tread of footsteps behind her.

“What are you doing here?”

The voice reverberated off the walls, and Eloise froze, a hand reaching out toward that map.

Before Eloise could turn, recognizing Dorian’s voice, Pickle bolted toward him, his bark loud and echoing in the room. Eloise slowly turned, but Dorian was already speaking.

“Mr. Taylor, see to it that Her Grace’s dog is taken back to Oldcliff Hall. Now.”

It was a sharp, quick command, and it made Eloise turn, for the footman had his wide eyes fixed on her before he was pushed into action by the direction. Hastily, he pulled the lead from her loose grip, and fastened it around Pickle, who went easily.

By the time he had left with her dog, Eloise faced her husband, whose face was that of a dark, winter storm on the open seas.

“I—”

“I do hope you have a good explanation for why you are here, Duchess.” His voice was shut down, stoic.

“I do,” she breathed. “I do. Pickle… he—he ran in here. I was not snooping; I only followed him to stop him, or get him out. I did not mean to trespass.”

“I saw as much from my study window,” he told her flatly.

Part of Eloise felt foolish, for he had seen her wave, perhaps, and she had been convincing herself, not truly believing it. Her shoulders sank, but her resolve remained.

“I came, seeing how your hound fled for the lighthouse,” Dorian continued. “I saw you running after him, and I then pursued you.” The emphasis flooded warmth through her, though Eloise wasn’t sure if it was the way he looked at her, how she felt seen, or if it was fear. “Yet, when I arrived, I heard you not listening to my footman’s pleas for you to leave. He was right to ask you. Yet you ignored the warnings. Why?”

“Why?” she echoed. “I should not be answering why—not when I do not know why you are so angry. I have been told it is a ruin, abandoned, left without lights turned on. But—but it is hardly that. It is a museum of utter wonder. Can you not see that?”

Her husband stopped. “It does not matter what I see. I would like to escort you out. Now.”

Eloise thought of Nancy’s advice about making the duke speak to her about things they both liked, and it was so clear now, more than ever. “But… can you not see the wonders around us? The maps—Heavens, they are beautiful. They are cherished, and have been curated from a clear passion. And I am certain this one—” She pointed out at the map of the world. “This one has your handwriting on it, and I could not help but be enthralled⁠—”

“We are leaving.” Dorian’s voice had never sounded so flat. “Now, Eloise. I will not ask you again.”

Her mouth opened and closed, and she could not find the words to plead her case further, not when she realized she was arguing against a stone wall.

Mustering her resolve, she nodded once. “Fine. If you are so adamant, I will leave with you.”

She stalked toward him, but she had not realized that the footman taking Pickle’s leash had made her drop her shoes and stockings. They were a bundle on the floor, and her bare foot caught. Her legs gave out, and her body tipped forward. Her cry was silent, but her mouth was open as she stumbled⁠—

But Dorian caught her.

She only felt the sturdiness supporting her, and for a second, she could only gasp. Her chest heaved with the moment, staring at his chest, before she dared lift her eyes to his. Words escaped her as she beheld his wide, almost panicked eyes.

His own chest rose and fell, as if he had been the one to have fallen.

“Eloise—” He breathed, his hands sliding hastily to her upper arms, gripping her tightly. “Are you all right? Speak to me. Did you hurt yourself?”

“I…” She trailed off, startled by the sheer frantic energy vibrating through him. “I am fine, Dorian.”

“Are you certain? Your ankles—did you twist anything?” His hands shifted, checking her arms, brushing along her shoulders as though searching for hidden fractures, his breathing ragged and uneven. “Answer me. Heavens, Eloise, talk to me!”

“Dorian, truly, I am unharmed,” she insisted, her voice soft with growing bewilderment. She reached out, her fingers lightly touching the lapel of his coat to ground him. “It was only a stumble. Look at me—I am completely fine.”

“You could have fallen down the entire rise,” he rasped, his eyes wild as they scanned her face, her shoulders, taking in every line of her expression with a feverish urgency. “You shouldn’t be trembling. Are you in pain?”

“I am only breathless because you caught me so suddenly,” she said, offering a gentle, reassuring smile to ease the panic locked in his features. “I promise you, I am quite all right.”