Page 62 of To Steal a Duchess

“I did find that strange,” Lord Thornton said. “Especially as word was around the ton that the Duke of Oldcliff did not wish to settle down. It is all just very strange.” His gaze settled on Eloise, and Dorian bristled. “For both of you. But, if you both insist you have found your match⁠—”

Lord Stephen sniggered, and Dorian wanted to challenge him there and then.

“—then we are most happy for you.”

“As you should be,” Dorian told him, his voice roughening. “My wife and I make one another very happy, and we do not need to defend ourselves to gossips such as yourselves. Her Grace did not deserve to endure Lord Sarling’s scandalous behavior, and, with her own parents’ blessing, I am pleased to have her as my wife.”

“Did you fight for her, Your Grace?” Lord Stephen asked suddenly.

Dorian clenched his jaw. “I did not need to.” The statement was simple, final. “But had I needed to, I would have fought for such a remarkable, beautiful woman to no end.” He pulled Eloise further away from them. “Good night. Enjoy your night.”

He didn’t even bother with a courteous nod. Instead, he guided Eloise out of the dance hall, and out of Almack’s altogether after they collected their belongings, to their waiting carriage.

He did not speak once, too angry, too tightly wound, until they returned to his townhouse.

Chapter Sixteen

“Thank you.” Eloise’s voice was quiet in the hallway. She clutched her dressing gown around her with a white-knuckled grip as she faced Dorian after the ball that evening.

“What for?”

“You know what for,” she muttered.

“I know.” His voice softened, and she swore, out of the corner of her eye, in the dark space, his hand twitched toward her. She might not have recognized the desire to lift it further had she not done it herself at the village celebration.

“It meant a lot,” she added.

Dorian nodded.

Her chest still tingled with the warmth she felt about her husband defending her.

“Eloise.” He caught her wrist before she could properly turn away. “Eloise, listen to me. Nobody will ever dare to speak about you this way again. If I have not already quelled the rumors tonight, then I will find a way to do so. I will not have you worrying about being in Society, if you wish to be in it. I will not have you hide away out of fear of what they think and say.”

Eloise leaned forward, desperate to put her head on his chest from emotional exhaustion.

Everything had been a whirlwind: Nancy’s engagement, Dorian’s new closeness, tonight’s ball. She was so, so tired. He caught her by both wrists, lowering her hands down.

Dorian steadied her, and Eloise gazed up at him, her mouth parting.

“Dorian,” she whispered, “you told them I was beautiful.”

She half expected him to look uncomfortable, to even deny it, perhaps, but he was a true man. He may have been a controlled, walled man, but he was honest; she knew that.

He nodded. “I did, and I meant it. You looked like a vision tonight, Eloise. A true duchess.”

She smiled, warmth flushing her neck and cheeks. He held her gaze, as if he thought that would make the compliment sink in further, and Eloise couldn’t look away. Her heart pounded in her throat, and she wanted nothing more than to lean in.

Dorian did. His fingers slid up her wrists, pushing back the sleeves of her robe. She shivered at the feel of his bare skin on hers. Her breath shortened, and the darkness pressed around them. It seemed to murmur that they—that she—could have a small, indulgent moment she was certain would happen. That the dark would keep it safe.

That they would not have to speak of it the following day.

But they would have to.

Because, like last time, it would change things, and Eloise couldn’t risk that, not when they had just begun to get closer.

So, before Dorian could get any closer, Eloise pulled herself away sharply.

She could not be rejected again.