Page 55 of To Steal a Duchess

But she did not know that he hadn’t ignored her. She still had not told him it was her birthday, and the clock in the corner of her room was three-quarters from midnight. “I just wish I could have enjoyed it with you⁠—”

Her words were cut off by Dorian nodding toward the hallway, beckoning with his hand. Then, Eloise’s mouth opened in shock as maids and footmen spilled in, three of each, all carrying silver platters of food. The scent of oysters and lobster, fried potatoes, and herbs—it all filled the room.

Her eyes widened at the sight of a large honey cake, much bigger than the usual serving size.

“Dorian,” she whispered as he pointed to each staff member where to set their platters down. Soon, Eloise was surrounded by everything she loved to eat, and her heart started to beat furiously. “Dorian, what is this?”

He waited until the staff left, and then he came closer, slipping off his tailcoat. Eloise swallowed at even that discarding of an outer layer.

“Eloise,” he said lowly. “Do you really think I would not know my wife’s birthday?” He leaned closer, hovering over the bed. “My errands kept me away, as I told you, but I hurried home to you. I was told you were at Oldcliff, and I raced there, hoping I could bring you back in time for a celebration of our own.”

She shifted aside to let him sit with her. It felt intimate, too close, but she had craved that long enough. She had craved one dinner with him alone, and now she was getting it in the most private way possible.

“You deserve a hundred celebrations,” he said, “a hundred dinner parties. A hundred balls thrown in your honor. A hundred gifts, but I did not have enough time to provide the extensive celebration you deserved but⁠—”

Eloise’s eyes teared up slightly at the display. “This is perfect.” Her voice was a whisper.

Dorian smiled before he got back off the bed to take several candles from her vanity that she had not noticed. He lit them, one by one.

“Before I left for the village, I ordered this to be prepared for you.” He blew out the match before arranging four candles around the room. She did not care if it was not a candlelit ballroom; this truly was more than perfect. “Well, for us, if you would have me join you.”

“Of course.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She did not want to stop them. “You know it is what I have wanted practically since our first night as a married couple.”

Dorian gave her that look, the one that made her think he wanted to smile, but either didn’t let himself or didn’t know how to without it being something to intimidate or use to his advantage.

Eloise took it, anyway, especially as he reached for the silver bucket also left on her vanity, filled with a bottle of wine resting in ice. Two glasses clinked between his fingers when he carried them all over to her.

“Not too much, given your indulgence at the celebration.”

Dorian’s huff of laughter was unexpected, and Eloise blushed.

“It was a singular occasion,” she hurried to say, as Dorian poured her a glass and set it down next to her.

“I do not mind you enjoying yourself, Duchess.”

The way he said it made her skin flush even warmer, and she sank back into the cushions on her bed, Pickle sniffing around the food but being good not to eat before he was offered.

Dorian leaned forward and picked up a skewer of vegetables and meat, all grilled and spiced to perfection.

He plated it for her before taking his own.

Eloise chewed slowly, indulgently, not wanting to rush a single second of the feast… or the moment. Pickle nudged her ankle, a tiny whine in his throat, giving her the biggest, roundest eyes as if to beg for food.

“I do believe you had quite enough,” Eloise laughed, but cut up a slice of meat from another plate.

He happily took it from her fingers without snatching, and she rubbed behind his ears. Even Dorian did the same with feeding, then petting.

Soon, half the plates were cleared, and Eloise exhaled happily as she swirled the wine in her glass.

“This is the nicest birthday I’ve ever had,” she heard herself admit in the dark room.

“I very much doubt that,” he responded in a manner that diminished this wonderful feast he’d arranged for her.

The candles flickered, their wicks melting halfway down by now, and the lower they got the more emphasized the sharp lines of Dorian’s face. He was stunning, and she noticed his beard was trimmed. She wondered if this had been the occasion.

His eyes caught hers, bold and gray.

“My parents never made a fuss of it,” she told him. “Then again, they did not ever make a fuss of anything unless it was to chide me, or tell me I was doing something wrong.”