Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
A first kiss ought to be maidenly, Eleanor had always thought, although she had rarely given kissing much consideration. After all, until this stranger dressed as a former king, she had never encountered a gentleman so inclined to kiss her.
In fact, thanks to her stepmother, she had rarely encountered a gentleman who gave her a second glance compared to her younger and far better-dressed half-sisters. This was the way of things, and she had largely come to accept her place in the world—fighting it, after all, had never done her any good.
But as the man’s lips pressed against hers, she felt as though the walls around her life fell away. All this time, she had never given kissing any consideration, and yet it could feel like this .
Soft, warm. Her lower belly felt molten as his lips moved, opening her mouth and tilting her head so their kiss perfectly slotted together. He tugged her closer, until their bodies were flush, and her heart pounded in her chest. Her hands moved of their own volition, reaching up to slide into his hair. Long and thick and silky, so unlike her own and yet so similar, too. She had never encountered a man with long hair like this before. Roguish, like a pirate.
At the feel of her hands on him, he made a low sound in the back of his throat, and his tongue flicked across her lower lip. She stifled a gasp. The liquid feeling between her legs deepened into something approaching an ache as he repeated the gesture, then slid his tongue into her mouth. Hot. Wet. So very different from anything she could ever have imagined.
For several more heady seconds—or perhaps they were sunlit days—she lost herself to the intimacy of his touch. The hand at her chin slid down to her jaw, fingertips soft as they skated across her skin; his other hand found her waist, bowing her body against his, holding her steady when she felt as though her knees might buckle.
For years, she had been a stranger to desire. It had never held much of a place in her life. But today, it came upon her with a vengeance, and she—
She was kissing a stranger.
Kissing a stranger on the balcony of a public ball where anyone might see them.
To be sure, she doubted many would recognize her, but if any of her half-sisters were to discover this, they would out her immediately. Her reputation would be ruined. This, she had known when he approached her, so how had she allowed him to take such liberties with her?
“Stop,” she gasped, pushing at his chest. He immediately stepped back, his hold on her loosening as though she had shocked him.
Heavens, she ought to have shocked some sense into herself several minutes prior. The music still lilted around them, the dances below continuing as though nothing had happened, but the heat that coursed lazily through her body said otherwise. Her entire life had fundamentally changed, and she should not have allowed it to.
“How… how dare you,” she hissed, jabbing a finger at him. “You said my virtue would be safe with you!”
He looked down at her, a speculative gleam in his eyes. “And you said you had never before been kissed.”
“I was telling the truth .”
His smile widened. “Then I must have been a better teacher than I could have accounted for.” He gave a flourishing, mocking bow. “You are welcome, my shepherdess.”
“I am not your anything.” Gathering what remained of her dignity and courage, she pushed past him, fleeing back down the stairs and into the bulk of the crowd once more. Her face burned and tears stung her eyes, although she hardly knew why. It was hardly as though she knew his identity or even cared to know. This did not have to go further than a pleasant recollection in her most private moments.
Though she did not look up, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he dwelled in her thoughts for even a moment, she felt his gaze linger on her from the balcony above for the remainder of the night.
The next few days passed slowly, syrupy like melted sugar as Eleanor tried not to think of the man at the ball, and succeeded in thinking about little else. The way he had spoken to her, the way he had touched her, and the way he had kissed her.
The way she had allowed him.
No doubt he was precisely the kind of rake she had originally supposed him to be. And she had proven herself to be just like every other girl he had no doubt seduced. For him, it had been another conquest to add to his list, a notch in his belt, but it had been her first kiss.
Her first kiss had been with a man who cared nothing for her, and who did not know so much as her name.
And yet she could not stop thinking about the way it had felt. More than once, she had come back into herself to find she was running her fingers along her bottom lip, tracing the route his tongue had taken.
“Eleanor!”
Eleanor snapped up to find Isabel hanging over her. “Ah! Yes. I’m sorry. What was it you wanted?”
“Are you even listening to me? I need you to find the green ribbons for my hair. The Duke will be here in a matter of minutes, and I am not even remotely ready to receive him! And all you can do is sit there with a dazed look on your face.”
“I’m sorry,” Eleanor said mechanically. “I hadn’t intended to—” She cleared her throat. Enough thinking about the strange man. She would never see him again, anyway. “The green ribbon. Of course.”
“And my slippers,” Annabel cut in with an oily smile. “The silver ones. I must look my best.”
Eleanor glanced at the maids dealing with her half-sisters’ hair and clothes, both their shoulders hunched in case her sisters’ wrath turned on them instead.
Better she take it. After all, it hardly mattered what she wore, seeing as the Duke would not be arriving to look at her. And the maids suffered enough torment at Isabel and Annabel’s hands at the best of times.
“I don’t like the way you’ve done my hair, Betsy,” Isabel huffed, running her fingers through the unruly tumble of blonde curls. “Brush them out and start again. It should be more—” she hesitated, feigning nonchalance, “neat. Pinned higher, perhaps. Like Lady Lydia always wore hers… what did she call it? A Corinthian chignon?”
A knock sounded at the door, and Margaret stepped inside. “Oh, my darlings,” she said effusively, touching the top of both Isabel and Annabel’s heads. “You both look so very beautiful.”
“ Eleanor !” Isabel snapped. “The ribbons! And I also require rouge for my cheeks.”
“Nonsense, my darling.” Margaret held up a hand at Eleanor, stilling her. “You don’t need any cosmetic help. Better he see how fresh-faced and beautiful you are. And that goes for you, too, Annabel. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong impression of your virtue. Young ladies do not need the help of such practices.” She pinched Isabel’s cheeks. “There now. What more could you possibly need?”
Privately, Eleanor didn’t think the Duke would care too much about the virtue of his future bride. At least, perhaps he would when he actually intended on marrying, but she doubted very much this was the case here and now. And certainly not with her half-sisters.
“As for you,” Margaret said, turning disdainfully to Eleanor. “I assume you know the purpose of the Duke’s visit?”
Eleanor ducked her head. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Then you know he is arriving intending to marry one of my three girls. The eldest two, most likely. I hardly think it necessary that you put in an appearance, especially given you are past a desirable marriageable age, especially when compared with dear Isabel.”
Three years hardly made all that much of a difference. But as Eleanor had no interest in the Duke or his escapades, she merely shrugged. “As you say.”
“Such an uncouth gesture . You ought to know better than that. Now, go and see to Mirabel to make sure she is presentable. I suspect she harbors some hope that the Duke might glance her way too.” She waved a hand, dismissing Eleanor. Sensing an opportunity for escape, Eleanor curtsied before scurrying for the door, moving to Mirabel’s smaller bedchamber. The younger girl looked up with a wan smile.
“Oh, Ella! I thought it was Mama here again.”
“Just me,” Eleanor smiled secretly. “Would you like me to do your hair?”
“Mama… Mama said I should wear your pearls,” Mirabel said hesitantly.
An unexpected stab of pain choked Eleanor, and she placed a hand against her heart. Her pearls were the only possessions she had of her mother’s—the one thing Margaret could not take away from her. Except, now, she was attempting to do just that. And the only reason Isabel or Annabel hadn’t already demanded it was because they had nicer jewels to their name.
Mirabel chewed on her lip. “I promise to give them back as soon as he leaves.”
“It’s—” Eleanor took a breath. This was nothing new, and she could endure just as she had before. Better, in fact, because she had something none of her half-sisters knew of: a secret . She had the strange man’s kiss lingering on her lips even now, proof that someone at least had thought her worthy of something, no matter how wrong it might have been. “It’s fine,” she finally said, forcing a smile. “I shall go and retrieve them from my room.”
“Thank you.”
As Eleanor fetched the pearls and placed them on her half-sister’s throat, fastening them and stepping back, she forced all unhappy feelings away. Perhaps she had hoped to wear the pearls herself, perhaps even to her own wedding, but that had always been a foolish dream. And, of all her half-sisters, she had rather Mirabel wore them. After all, now there was at least a chance of getting them back.
“Let me help you with your hair,” Eleanor said, knowing it was her duty. The other maids were too preoccupied with the older girls.
A fist pounded on the door just as Eleanor finished pinning Mirabel’s dark curls behind her head. “Come on, Mira!” Annabel called. “The Duke is here! Come downstairs to greet him.”
Eleanor gave Mirabel’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “You go, now. I’ll stay here.”
It was a testament to the usual way of things that Mirabel put up no argument as she hurried excitedly to the door. Once it closed behind her, Eleanor peered out of the window at the street below. There, a carriage was sitting beside their front door, and she saw a man emerge from it, a top hat on his head, obscuring the rest of his body. From this angle, she could see little of him, but she didn’t care, turning away and clicking her tongue. Now, at least, she would have some time to sit and read some romantic stories to Scrunch.
“Right?” she asked, patting the pocket where she kept him.
Her hand encountered air, and her stomach dropped.
No…
Surely she could not have lost Scrunch. If someone else discovered him, there would be hell to pay! They would bring up the cat from the kitchens to find her dear pet and dispose of him. No one would care that he was all the company she had in the world—they did not care about anything she owned, and especially not a mouse.
She had to find him, and quick, before her half-sisters did.
Or worse, the Duke. If he were to find her darling mouse, all would be lost!