Page 67 of To Steal a Duchess

Dorian’s heart began to pound. He tried not to look beyond the soft curve of her jaw, but he could not help himself. She was lying on her back, her arms raised above her head, as though she truly had let herself fall into position. Her legs were tucked together at an angle to her body, and covering her body…

Dorian swallowed.

Her thin, silk nightgown slung to every curve, and he forced himself to be decent and not linger on the prominent rise of her breasts, or the peaks of her nipples through the thin fabric. He tore his eyes away, focusing on the delicate point of her toes.

Dorian tugged on his cravat, his throat suddenly tight. Eloise slept so soundly; he could not bear to wake her up, even if he had set the boundary of Pickle not to sleep on his bed.

And yet Eloise had invited herself in as well… for the first time.

Dorian quietly slipped off his jacket, not bothering with his shirt, and folded it over his desk chair.

All he wanted to do was fall onto the sheets alongside her.

Finally, Dorian let himself give in to the exhaustion of the day. He could question Eloise about it in the morning. Before he dozed off, he had a brief thought.

What does my wife look like upon the dawn’s first light?

It terrified him that he was about to find out.

It made him eager to wake up next to her.

Dawn had not yet broken when Dorian, stirring in his sleep, felt a figure pressed right against him.

He froze, and the vision from the night before—a thing he had convinced himself was a dream—came back to him at once.

Eloise, her thin nightgown, her arms splayed, her spilled hair over his pillows. Slowly, he turned to look at her, his breath shallow.

Eloise lay on her side, her hands tucked between her thighs so her arms pressed her chest together. Her face was slack and peaceful, her breaths coming out lightly.

A tightness began between his legs. He would have liked to blame it on the occasional typical occurrence, but he knew it was because of Eloise. Because, day by day, he couldn’t keep denying his physical attraction to her.

Now, with her chest pressed to his side, pushed into fullness by her arms’ position, he couldn’t ignore the erection straining at his pants.

He tried to shift away, to calm himself down, but the moment he moved again, Pickle sat up at once, eyes keen with the fact that Dorian being awake meant the day would begin.

Unfortunately, Pickle’s movement made Eloise move, and she let out a soft, sleepy noise that Dorian knew he would not be able to unhear no matter how hard he tried.

He moved again, and so did Eloise, another little protesting noise, as if she was too comfortable to be disturbed. Her body followed his, as if, even stirring slightly, she wanted to be close.

Her breasts pillowed against his bicep, her head tucking into his shoulder.

His erection only grew, and he tried to keep himself covered as her eyes fluttered open.

As soon as she realized how close she was to him, Eloise let out a tight noise and moved herself back, her face pink.

“Dorian! I—I did not mean⁠—”

“It is no bother,” he said, but his voice was strained as he tried to control himself. He only hoped Eloise didn’t mistake it for anger. He already missed her body against his. “What were you doing in my bed?”

“While you were out working, I was with Nancy. Once she left, I ended up coming up to my room quite late. Clearly, Pickle got impatient of waiting for me, and apparently decided to explore your room instead. I know you said not to let him on your bed, but I really didn’t have the heart—or strength, really—to move him.” She let out a breathy laugh. “I ended up staying with him. I tried to stay awake so we could leave before you returned, but…”

“But I found you both asleep.”

“You did.”

Her eyes were fixed on him, and he tried to focus on her words, but the thin straps of her nightgown were slipping off, caressing her arms, and she was utterly disheveled, and⁠—

Dorian’s eyes tore from that generous decolletage, and how, with the way her silk nightgown folded with the looseness of her straps, he swore he could see the blush-color of the edge of her nipple.