Chapter 20 #5
"And you're perfect. Perfectly maddening, perfectly brilliant, perfectly mine." He stepped back reluctantly, giving her space. "I should take you home before we do something that can't be undone."
***
The carriage ride was torture, sitting properly apart when every fiber of her being wanted to crawl into his lap and continue what they'd started. Adrian kept his distance, though his eyes never left her face.
"Everything has changed so much between us," she said as they pulled up to her lodgings.
"Everything's been changing since the day you walked into my library." He helped her down, his hands lingering on her waist. "The question is what we do about it."
"I don't know," she admitted. "I need time to think. To figure out how to balance everything without losing myself or my work in the process."
"Take all the time you need." He kissed her hand formally, though his eyes promised much more. "I'll be here when you're ready. Always."
She climbed the stairs to her rooms on unsteady legs, her body still humming from his touches. Everything was accelerating, her career, their relationship and the complications that came with both.
In her sitting room, she found the publishing contract still waiting on her desk. She signed it with a steady hand, though her mind was far from steady. Tomorrow she would submit it to Cadwell, officially beginning her journey as a published translator.
But tonight, she allowed herself to remember Adrian's hands in her hair, his mouth on her throat, his voice promising patience and forever in the same breath. The careful boundaries they'd maintained were crumbling, and she couldn't bring herself to rebuild them.
Whatever came next, there would be no more pretending. They were past that now, into territory unmarked by contracts or conditions. It thrilled and terrified her in equal measure.
She prepared for bed still feeling the phantom pressure of his lips, the warmth of his arms around her. Tomorrow would bring new challenges; the museum project to organize, translations to complete, the delicate balance of multiple positions to maintain.
But tonight, she allowed herself to simply feel. To be a woman in love, complicated and inconvenient as that love might be. To imagine a future where her work and her heart might coexist, where marriage to Adrian might enhance rather than diminish her scholarly pursuits.
It was a dangerous dream, full of social impossibilities and practical complications. But as she drifted toward sleep, Eveline found herself smiling.
After all, she'd always been drawn to difficult translations. And what was love but the most complex text of all, requiring patience and skill and the courage to find meaning in what others might call impossible?
***
The next week passed in a blur of activity.
She submitted the signed contract to Cadwell, who was delighted by her acceptance.
The museum project began in earnest, with Thornbury providing two eager assistants for her to direct.
And through it all, her relationship with Adrian deepened and intensified, the professional boundaries they'd once maintained now barely a memory.
They were discrete in front of others, maintaining appropriate distance when Morrison or the assistants were present. But in the moments between, when they were alone in the library or walking in the garden, the pretense dropped away entirely.
"You're glowing," Harriet observed when they met for tea that Friday. "Actually luminescent with happiness. It's rather nauseating for those of us living more mundane lives."
"Your life is hardly mundane. How is Lady Beatrice?"
"Magnificent. Yesterday she dictated a letter to the Prime Minister about women's education while simultaneously correcting my Latin grammar and planning a dinner gathering for radical intellectuals.
" Harriet leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"But we're not discussing my employer. We're discussing why you look like you've been thoroughly and repeatedly kissed. "
"Harriet!"
"Am I wrong?"
Eveline felt heat flood her cheeks. "Not... entirely wrong."
"I knew it!" Harriet crowed. "Oh, this is delicious. The proper Miss Whitcombe, engaged in passionate embraces with her employer. What would the scandal sheets say?"
"Nothing, because they're not going to find out." Eveline's tone turned serious. "We're being careful, Harriet. My work is too important to risk on gossip."
"Of course you are." Her friend's expression softened. "I'm jesting, but I am happy for you. Both of you. Though I do wonder how long you can maintain this balancing act."
It was a question Eveline had been avoiding, but it pressed at the edges of her consciousness as she returned to Everleigh Manor. How long could they continue like this—professional colleagues by day, lovers in all but the final sense by evening? Something would have to give eventually.
She found Adrian in an unusual position, standing on a library ladder, reaching for a volume on a high shelf. The sight of him in shirtsleeves, coat discarded and cravat loosened, made her mouth go dry.
"Need assistance?" she offered, trying not to stare at the way his shirt pulled across his shoulders.
He looked down, a wicked smile curving his lips. "Depends on the kind of assistance. I'm trying to reach Ptolemy, but I'd be happy to come down and discuss other needs."
"The book, Adrian. Focus on the book."
"Dampener of spirits." But he retrieved the volume, descending the ladder with easy grace. "How was tea with Harriet?"
"Illuminating. She seems to think I'm glowing with inappropriate happiness."
"Are you?" He set the book aside, moving closer. "Inappropriately happy?"
"Deliriously so," she admitted, letting him pull her into his arms.
"Good." He kissed her, slow and deep, until her knees went weak. "Though 'inappropriate' seems harsh. I prefer 'unconventionally.'"
"That's not a real word."
"It should be. We need new words for what we are, since the existing ones don't quite fit." His hands stroked down her back, making her shiver. "Colleagues? Too cold. Lovers? Too limited. Employer and employee? Laughably inadequate."
"What would you call us then?"
"Everything," he said simply. "You're everything to me, Eveline. Friend, equal, future wife..."
"Adrian."
"I know, I know. Monthly proposals only. I'll wait another two weeks." He kissed her again, effectively ending rational discourse.
They were so absorbed in each other that neither heard the library door open until a horrified gasp broke them apart.
Morrison stood frozen in the doorway, face scarlet, eyes wide with shock. "I...Your Grace...Miss Whitcombe...I'm so sorry, I didn't...I'll just..."
"Morrison, wait." Adrian's voice carried ducal authority even as he straightened his disordered clothing. "Come in and close the door."
The young man obeyed, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.
Eveline tried to smooth her hair, acutely aware of how they must appear—flushed, disheveled, obviously interrupted in a passionate embrace.
Morrison had seen them before being quite close but not actually kissing each other and that had obviously shocked him.
"Mr. Morrison," she began, but Adrian held up a hand.
"Let me." He faced the young scholar squarely. "What you've witnessed is a private matter between Miss Whitcombe and myself. Our personal relationship has no bearing on her professional positions or scholarly work."
"Of course not, Your Grace." Morrison's voice squeaked slightly. "I would never suggest...that is, Miss Whitcombe's brilliance is evident regardless of..."
"Breathe, Morrison," Eveline advised gently. "You've done nothing wrong."
The young man gulped air obediently. "I won't speak of this to anyone. You have my word."
"We know," Adrian said. "You're a good man, Morrison. Discrete and honorable. That's why I'm trusting you with this knowledge."
"You... trust me?" Morrison looked stunned by the concept.
"Completely." Adrian moved to pour brandy, offering a glass to the still-shaken young man. "Sit. Let's discuss this like rational adults."
Morrison sat gingerly, accepting the brandy with trembling hands. "I don't understand. You and Miss Whitcombe... how long?"
"Weeks," Eveline admitted, taking her own seat. "Though we tried very hard to maintain professional boundaries."
"Tried and spectacularly failed," Adrian added with a rueful smile. "As you've just witnessed."
"But your work," Morrison said to Eveline, concern evident in his voice. "Your positions, your reputation...if people knew..."
"Which is why we've been discrete," she said. "My work stands on its own merits, regardless of my personal feelings for His Grace."
"Of course it does!" Morrison's defense was immediate and fierce. "Anyone who suggests otherwise is a fool. Your Byzantine discoveries alone have revolutionized the field, and your translations are brilliant, and..." He stopped, coloring again.
"Thank you," Eveline said softly, touched by his vehemence. "Your support means more than you know."
Morrison took a large gulp of brandy, coughing slightly.
When he recovered, his expression was thoughtful rather than shocked.
"It makes sense, actually. The way you work together, finish each other's thoughts, argue about obscure classical references as if they're the most important things in the world. .. I should have seen it."
"Most people see what they expect to see," Adrian said. "A duke and his employee, maintaining appropriate distance."
"But you're not that at all, are you?" Morrison looked between them with growing understanding. "You're partners. In everything."
"Yes," Eveline said simply. "We are."
"That's..." Morrison paused, searching for words. "That's actually rather wonderful. Unconventional, certainly, and probably scandalous if it becomes known, but wonderful nonetheless."
"You're taking this remarkably well," Adrian observed.