Page 53 of To Steal a Duchess

“And I really wish to take you home for dinner.”

At that, she stopped.

He does?

She blinked up at him. Dorian was slightly blurred against the stars, the lanterns, and her fuzzy vision from the cider, but she saw his handsomeness all the same. She lifted a hand to instinctively cup his jaw, to feel his rough, trimmed beard, but her husband caught her wrist.

It was not tight, nor a warning; it was gentle, a reminder that they were in public, and enough eyes were on them.

All Eloise could see in her mind was the scandal sheet claiming their lack of attraction, her disappointing ways for him, and how they had not been seen together.

The words were out of her mouth before she could hold them back.

“Dance with me,” she murmured, feeling the weightlessness of the drink, the beautiful sky above, and how, finally seeing him, made her birthday feel a little more complete. “Just one dance, and then I will go home with you.”

He looked at her as if doubting her word, but Eloise nodded once, as if to assure him. Just one—just one dance, one silly little thing for her birthday, even if she did not say it out loud.

“Fine,” he told her, not unkindly. “One dance.”

“One dance,” she confirmed, and then she laughed and pulled him close to the fountain’s spray as the musicians filled the village center with music once again.

He was deft with the way he held her, and it was not quite as informal and loose as the villagers around them, but it was nowhere near the strict ways of ton dancing.

He placed his hand on her waist, and Eloise held her skirts, their other hands intertwined. The feel of his fingers folded around hers made her want to spin so fast she would lift off the ground.

Eloise laughed again, looking at Dorian, but his face was stoic.

“Heavens, do celebrations always make you look so grievous?” she teased. “No wonder the villagers do not extend invitations to you.”

“I would rather this than swaying as though my legs will fold beneath me,” he countered without a beat.

Eloise ignored him. “I was offered cider, and I took it. There is no harm done, and nobody is laughing at me.”

“Yes, but they look at you.”

“And what do you think they see? A woman having fun? A duchess in a dress that is too fine for a celebration like this? A woman who wishes to simply forget who she is for the night and enjoy a revel? One cannot get this in the ton.”

“No,” Dorian agreed, spinning her around a patch of flowers. “One cannot. But I do see how they look at you. You are correct. They look at you with respect, and if they are happy, you see their event as important enough to stay and enjoy. Even the hound is having fun.”

He pointedly turned his head to where Pickle had devoured meat off two bones, and had his huge paws wrapped around a third. A child was alongside him, happily picking away at a sheaf of corn.

“Do you like that they accept me?” The question wasn’t necessarily one of worry, but confirmation that he felt he had made the right choice.

That he didn’t entirely regret taking her as his wife in their agreement.

Dorian paused. His fingers tightened slightly around hers. “Yes, of course I do. Oldcliff deserves a duchess who cares for it and its people.”

Duty, she thought. Duty and honor, as is typical.

“And you?” she dared to ask, lifting her eyes up to him beneath her lashes. “What do you see when you look at me? I am certain you have danced with plenty of ladies, those who would dare to step a little closer.”

A devious light flickered in Dorian’s face, and he pulled her closer. “Like this?”

She hadn’t expected him to rise to a bait she hadn’t known she’d set. “Yes,” she breathed.

“And what other ladies?”

“Ladies that would bat their lashes at you,” Eloise said, making her voice sound sure, sound confident. “Ones that would dare to sway their bodies a little more to get you to look.”