Page 86 of To Steal a Duchess

So, she did, and Pickle ran alongside her. It distracted her a little, but not enough. Her thoughts kept straying to Dorian. She wanted him home but had watched him leave. She did not know how she felt. She kept on walking—she kept on being Pickle’s owner and caring for him.

But every room was empty. The dining hall painfully so, for all Eloise saw was Dorian telling a tale about a pirate. Dorian had given her Oldcliff, but the moment she walked into that main room, she just saw the two of them together again.

She stood upright, remembered her place, and knew she was a Duchess. So, she continued her duties. Without Dorian there, she was free to do as she pleased, so she went to the lighthouse. It was the freest space for her.

Dorian found himself back in his townhouse in London. In his office, work kept him busy, but not busy enough.

He was approached by men and women, all asking for investigations. Part of him was tempted to turn them away, but he refrained.

“Please,” his next client said, “I believe my husband might be taking a mistress. I am his countess, and cannot endure such humiliation.”

Dorian nodded, knowing his role, but he looked at this woman’s desperate eyes, the pull of her brown hair, and he thought of the first time he had seen Eloise with her hair spilled on his pillows, accidentally having fallen asleep.

“Of course,” he said, slamming the document file closed. “I will discreetly send word for you when, and if, I have information.”

“Oh, thank you, Your Grace.” The countess was almost bowed to the floor with gratitude. “We do have our agreement, do we not? You will be discreet?”

“Yes, we do. Do not worry.”

The lady left, and his next business meetings went similarly: another person with another story, and Dorian ached to find that passion he once had, but he was devoid of it. No matter where or how far he looked, there was nothing but his duchess—the one he had left behind in Kent.

But she was safe and free there, surely.

At least, he had to tell himself that.

Nothing felt the same, even day after day.

All he could think of was Eloise—and even her dog. He could not stop thinking of her laugh, the way she trailed her fingers over the travel books. The way she just wanted to explore. Her passion, and her curiosity. All he thought of was how he would have never met Eloise had she not become a client. A woman needing a way out—one he gave her.

He could see her pretty handwriting in his mind when he closed his eyes briefly between meetings. Her plea⁠—

I need something to free me from this marriage.

And he had done exactly that, thinking of her as another client.

But nothing could properly take away his longing for Eloise—his reminiscence of her, and even her hound, and how Dorian himself had stayed up all night to ensure he had been fine after his injury.

Dorian tipped his head back, groaning. He watched the clock after that long enough to know when his working day was over.

More days passed, and Dorian found London more and more miserable. Everything was gray, and while he had not been concerned with his townhouse’s emptiness before, since Eloise had come into his life, and now he had left to give her space, it was too hollow.

It echoed too much, and he thought of her alone in a similar way at Oldcliff Hall.

His mind went to her every hour, during every fitful rest he got, and he could not stop picturing her at the cliff edge, perhaps watching the sunsets and the ships, waiting for him to give her the answer she wanted. His chest ached.

He thought of what he had said to her, about his life being easier and simpler when he had been alone. It was not because he missed his solitude—at least, not anymore, which was a new thing in itself when Dorian had always craved his own space and freedom—but because he hated how his past had put her through consequences and pain.

Dorian hated that he had not been strong enough to ever fight what he had gone through, so had merely buried it, ignored it, let it fester so he did not have to look at it.

And now Eloise had been damaged by it.

Dorian had not intended to find his way to White’s, but that is what he saw when he looked up after walking aimlessly, lost in his own head. He went inside, his whole body stiffening as he did so.

His father had loved White’s, and Dorian had often avoided it since inheriting his title for that reason. But now, he just needed a drink and a place to sit where Eloise was not associated.

He went inside, barely aware of the eyes on him from other gentlemen. Dorian just drifted through the space, led to a quiet table near the main room’s bar.

“It is a pleasure to have your presence.” The server bowed to him. “What may I get for such an honored patron? After all, it has been some time since anybody with the Oldcliff title has graced our establishment.”