Page 77 of To Steal a Duchess

Eloise’s breath caught, imagining her body swaying with the ship’s motion, even as she was solid on the theatre floor.

“And then—think of ensnaring him in your siren call,” Dorian finished. “Imagine him becoming yours.”

Eloise’s eyes closed, and her breath caught, her mind only thinking of Dorian and capturing him. When her eyes opened, it was to the stage, and its lights and its grandeur. The dancers twirled on, their feet on tiptoes and dainty, and she envied.

As if Dorian saw her expression, he took her hand, a reassurance.

She held back tightly.

For the rest of the performance, Eloise watched, enraptured, while her husband held her hand.

It was only when the music died down, and the light was extinguished, that she let go and let Dorian lead her away from their seats. It was then that they saw Eloise’s parents, and both couples stopped short.

“Darling?” Her mother said in surprise, then smoothed her face into an overjoyed expression. “Darling. My duchess! My daughter! Whatever are you doing here? Your father and I have often wanted to take you to the opera, but you often declined. I dare say, do we have… news yet?”

Eloise, knowing that the opera’s interval was an opportunity to be introduced to gentlemen, had declined. But the other question was one she pretended not to hear, or to see her mother’s pointed look down at her stomach.

“A wife must provide,” her mother said. “As I have often told you. She ought to be serving her husband, not frolicking around an opera house as though she has all the time in the world. If I had done that…”

Eloise tried to ignore her mother’s overall look at her, and she went to speak. But before she could, Dorian spoke up, but not for her.

“It was my decision, my lady. I brought Her Grace to the opera, for I thought she might like the nautical theme.”

Eloise saw it: for a brief moment, on her parents’ faces—she saw their disdain. Then they looked to the duke and smiled.

“But of course!” Her father laughed. “Of course she would, though we did long discourage our daughter’s love of—of such a thing!”

“I do not worry.” Dorian’s voice was stern. “I like a wife who can speak her mind. I care for little else. She is strong, and she is most passionate. If I had a dull wife, one that was less than her, I fear I would be bored, but I have everything I want and need.”

Both of Eloise’s parents gaped at him, their mouths moving in silent words, and Eloise only nodded her head in a polite acknowledgement of farewell before she and Dorian left the opera house.

“Can we go home?” she whispered, pressing against his side, as they approached their carriage.

“Of course. It is but several streets⁠—”

“Our true home. Oldcliff Hall. I want to go home, Dorian.”

He took a moment as the carriage door opened. He nodded once. “Then we shall. Come on, let us send for our belongings and Pickle.”

And his naming of her puppy made her smile, at least.

Oldcliff was draped in darkness, for, true to his word, Dorian had sent their carriage—and one ahead, with Pickle and their belongings—right ahead.

Nighttime blanketed Oldcliff Hall, but when they left the carriage, Dorian took Eloise’s hand and asked, “Do you trust me?”

Of course she did. By now, she very much did, so she took his hand and let him lead her not to the mansion but beyond.

To the cliffs.

To the lighthouse.

Dorian took her inside that forbidden door, led her up the stairs she had once chased Pickle up. This time, there was no footman, nor panic. This time, it was only his eyes in the dark moonlight, his face against hers as he held her close up every single step, her breath catching in the darkness.

Finally, they made it to the room he had once chased her from. Now, he did not.

“You asked to go home.” His voice was quiet in the circular main room, the maps and compasses and travel books still impeccably preserved. “So this is mine.” He stood back, finally letting her hand go. His arms spread. “This is where I was taught everything I knew. From geography to mythological tales, I was taught far more up here than I ever was under my father’s tutelage.”

“And yet…” Eloise dared to say, her hands tucked behind her back. “You are a duke, not a lighthouse keeper. If you had the choice, what would you be?”