Page 75 of To Steal a Duchess

She was a boat, caught in his storm, and she was wrecked.

Her breaths came out in labored pants as the wave ceased slowly, and Dorian tapped her thighs. Eloise shakily moved off of him, blushing at the glisten on his mouth.

“I,” he began, as he sat up, “have wanted to taste you for the longest time, Duchess. Do not let this be my only chance at tasting you.”

“You are scandalous.”

“And you sound it,” he teased. “Do sound like that for me again.”

She fixed her skirts and moved to her bed. Dorian adjusted his trousers, joining her on the bed.

“What of you?” she asked. “I—I appreciate that I do not know what I am doing but⁠—”

“Do not worry about me.” He closed her reaching hand around his own, lowering it onto his torso. “I am perfectly satisfied. Are you?”

“Very much,” she breathed. “I… did not know one could experience such a thing.”

He gave her a very wicked smirk as he settled back, offering her his embrace. She tentatively went into it, trying to let herself believe this intimacy could last. This closeness could. Tilting her head up, she met Dorian’s eyes unexpectedly. The deep gray of them made her startle, the feeling going right through her sternum.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Your eyes…” she murmured. “They are beautiful.”

He blinked at her, his brows pulling together, as if he did not anticipate the compliment. He coughed a little. “Thank you. I have often disliked them.”

“Why?”

“They are my father’s eyes. I have tried avoiding any part of him for a long time. And I avoided the man himself by spending time at⁠—”

He stopped then, and she tilted her head to the side. It was a small offering of his past, and Eloise, feeling close to him again, pushed a little.

“What is your problem with the lighthouse, Dorian?” she asked.

Immediately, her husband stiffened. She feared she had asked a question too far, but he only inhaled deeply, as if bracing himself.

“I do not have a problem with the lighthouse,” he told her. “That place is… it is special to me, but it haunts me. My father…” He stopped for a moment, and Eloise grazed her hand over his chest.

“You do not have to answer.”

“I can.” But his jaw was clenched. “I just have not had to.”

“I am not entitled⁠—”

“You are, though, Eloise. I cannot keep you in the dark, or at length, no matter how much I try.” He breathed in deeply again. “You have heard how my voice changes when I speak of my father, the former duke. You have seen me shut down when he is mentioned, or the damage he did to Oldcliff, or how I am so much better than him.”

The words came out as an echo, as though he didn’t believe it but was quoting others. “He used to beat me. He had a fierce temper, and I forced myself to withstand it. He would not raise a hand to my mother, or the staff, and I had no siblings. It came onto me.”

“Dorian,” she whispered, but he shook his head.

He did not want her sympathy, but she knew pain. Not physical, perhaps, but she knew it nonetheless.

“When we went out to Oldcliff Hall, I found the lighthouse once, when I was a young boy. I met the lighthouse keeper there, called Mr. John Reed. He was older, friendly, kind, and he did not laugh at my interest in ships, maps, compasses—the world, really. It became my sanctuary, my safe place from my father’s rage. I needed an escape, and John did not ask questions.”

“Did he know about your father’s behavior?”

“Sometimes,” Dorian admitted, his voice going flat, his eyes vacant. “He saw bruises well enough, but he knew I needed a reprieve, so we did not speak of him. Instead, he told me how the light worked to guide ships. He taught me how to read storm predictions, compasses, maps, and even taught me how to build a simple raft. He knew I just needed to be a boy, not the son of a cruel, horrible duke.”

Eloise looked at him, looked at the man he was, and tried to imagine a boy escaping a life. Part of him slid more into place in her mind: his control. His need for that because of his father’s unpredictable rage.