Page 64 of To Steal a Duchess

“Oh, Heavens, do not⁠—”

“No, it is true!” Nancy laughed gleefully. “I have been waiting for some spark of attraction between you two. I mean, do not misunderstand me; I have seen the way you look at one another, and it is like a butter knife could cut the air between you both, but this! This is heavenly to hear. And he instigated it upon your little innocent story. I knew he chose that Grecian gown for you for a reason. He has always seen you, Eloise. But now, it seems, the two of you have crossed a threshold, and he feels bolder to show it. Has something… happened?”

She lowered her voice, her brows wiggling up and down comically, making Eloise clutch her forehead in utter humiliation.

“No,” she insisted. “Well… we have had several moments where we almost kissed, I believe, but we have both parted for different reasons.”

“Why part at all?”

“Nancy,” she emphasized. “I am ashamed! I am ashamed he caught me so off-guard, and that—that I liked it.”

“You are husband and wife, after all. You are allowed to want each other, to look at each other.”

Eloise opened her mouth to protest, but suddenly, Pickle tore forward, barking madly in the direction of a low shrub where a group of birds flew from. His leash wrenched from her hand, and Eloise cried out.

“Pickle!” she called. “Pickle, come back here!”

She had not yet had the confidence to let him off his leash except for on the beach one time, and he had run away that time, too. Trying to grasp her skirts enough to run after him, Eloise hurried after him. She heard Nancy shout out to the men what had happened as Eloise rushed to the shrub.

Pickle had been swallowed by the thick foliage, and she fell to her knees, uncaring of how she looked. It was exactly like how she had found him, and she heard a small whimper. His paw was tangled up in a thorny shrub, and she clasped her hand, not knowing how to get him out.

Her chest hitched. She should have been more attentive. She should not have been gossiping with Nancy—she should have been paying attention.

Suddenly, a presence was beside her, strong and assuring.

“Here, let me.” Dorian’s voice was low. “Step back for a moment.”

Eloise did, stumbling back in her upset, falling into Nancy’s waiting embrace. “Heavens, I am sorry—I am so sorry, I have interrupted our stroll and⁠—”

“Hush.” Nancy stroked up and down the side of her shoulder. “It is all right. Let us just get Pickle out and ensure he is all right.”

Eloise nodded, a pained noise caught in her throat as Dorian gently scooped Pickle out, mirroring how Eloise had done it at the start of her finding him. Except now she was too distraught, her hands shaking, and she was blaming herself.

“Come on,” Dorian said gently. “We will take him home.”

Chapter Seventeen

In her bedroom in Oldcliff House, Eloise watched as Pickle lay on a blanket the housekeeper had brought upon Dorian’s orders when they came in.

A veterinarian hovered over the puppy, careful hands prodding Pickle’s injured paw. It was bent at an awkward angle, and he was starting the process of wrapping it after having cleaned the thorn wounds. Pickle whined, his eyes wide with discomfort and pain, but they never looked away from Eloise.

She tried to stroke along his flank, but, despite his attention on her, even that couldn’t comfort him.

“He will be all right, Your Grace,” the doctor said, speaking to her directly. “But he will need watching. I will come back to assess the wound’s dressing, but he will be fine with some healing.”

“Will he still walk and run as normal?”

The veterinarian nodded. “He is young and healthy. You have raised him well so far, and that’ll help his paw heal. For now, keep watch, keep him comfortable, and ensure he is as safe as can be with minimal movement.”

Eloise jerked her head in acknowledgement. “Of course. Thank you for your hasty arrival.”

The veterinarian regarded Dorian. “His Grace has been a great help to me over the years. I wouldn’t hesitate to help him, or you, Your Grace.”

Once he left, Dorian moved to brush a hand on her lower back. “Eloise, you must rest too. You can stay in my chamber, and I will watch over him.”

“I cannot.” Her voice was steel, insistent. “I will not leave my boy. I rescued him first, and I could not today, so I will do as much as I can.”

She expected Dorian to nod, to retreat to his own chambers and perhaps ask about him later. He had never taken to Pickle properly, but she was surprised when Dorian sat in the armchair next to her bed. She herself perched on the top of her bed, slowly stroking Pickle’s head until he softened into her touch.