Page 80 of To Steal a Duchess

Chapter Twenty-Two

Eloise spent blissful weeks back in Oldcliff Hall. The lighthouse remained unlocked, and she was free to explore it as and when she pleased.

Sometimes Dorian caught her up there, and it became a game. Oftentimes, he would catch her hips, pulling her against his back as his hands wandered over the top of her bodice, as he asked her questions about the maps she examined.

Other times, he tugged her against him in a different way, entering her, slow and tentative. Another time, he took her hand to lead her down to a cove on the beach where he went to his knees and pushed up her skirts.

Eloise delighted in the new shift of their relationship.

It somehow felt no longer convenient, and even when Dorian wasn’t delivering her wave upon wave of pleasure, she lost herself in him. His beard would brush the jaw of her face, asking her about a certain continent, and she would ask questions about his travels.

He would always keep her guessing.

Soon, four weeks had passed, and it was up in the lighthouse that Eloise jolted suddenly, hunched over a counter as she kicked a stray cleaning bucket closer. She emptied her stomach, her head spinning, and Pickle whined.

“Eloise?” Dorian’s concerned voice rang through the stairwell, but she was too shaky and sweating to answer.

By the time he came up to the main room, her legs buckled, and he just caught her in his arms.

“Heavens, Eloise, you are pale,” he worried. “Let me carry you down to the mansion.”

His voice and face swam, and she nodded her agreement before her eyes closed, but she remained conscious.

Her body was limp by the time Dorian got her into bed, and her stomach curdled once more. She vaguely had heard, upon her arrival, for a maid to bring a bucket. She was merciful, for she bent over the bed and was sick once more.

Her stomach still rolled unpleasantly, and she fell back with a groan.

“I will be fine.” She tried to dismiss her illness as Dorian settled beside her. Eloise turned into his side, curling up against him as she tried to find comfort with her stomach. His arms came around her, and he brushed a kiss over her forehead.

“Pickle has joined us too,” he whispered. “He knows you will be fine, but I am certain he is aware I am worried.”

“I will be fine,” Eloise murmured again, but she was already falling into sleep.

After that day, the sickness continued every morning, and Eloise was scared to fall asleep each night, knowing how she would wake up feeling. But every morning, Dorian was there, stroking her back, her hair, her face, and holding her close. Soon enough, he insisted on a physician to be called out.

Eloise tried to protest.

Dorian shook his head. “I am sorry. I know you do not like fuss, but I cannot let you continue like this without being checked. Please, Eloise. Let me do this for you—for us. Pickle cannot even sleep properly, for he knows something is wrong.”

It was at her dog’s whine, and Dorian’s pleading expression, that Eloise finally relented.

Dorian called for a physician the following morning, right after Eloise had once again been unwell. She slumped back against the cushions of their bed, groaning at the nausea spooling in her stomach.

“How long has this been going on?” the physician asked as he prodded her torso gently. She flinched, but Dorian’s hand held hers firmly.

“Several days,” Dorian answered, for Eloise’s own tongue was too dry in her mouth. “She has been unwell, unable to move off the bed properly, and she cannot even smell food without nausea overcoming her. She will not even hear of her favorite food, and I do not know what to do for her.”

“Your Grace.” The physician stood back from where he had been assessing her. “Is it possible that you are with child? I do not mean to ask such delicate questions so boldly and enquire about your…” He glanced from Eloise to Dorian. “Personal life, but if there has been a chance, then I would not be surprised if this is why.”

Silence dropped through the room so severely Eloise swore she could hear the brush of a maid’s cloth in another room. Her breath hitched, and her knuckles were white as she gripped her husband’s hand.

“Thank you for your services,” Dorian told the physician, nodding, and held out a hand for his dismissal. “We must have time alone to… process such a possibility. We will send if we require anything.”

The physician bowed and left.

The silence continued, and Eloise was too scared to look up at Dorian, but she could feel the tension in his body.

“You ought to rest, Eloise,” Dorian finally murmured. He went to leave, but Eloise held out a hand for him to stay.