Chapter 27 #2
For the first time since Eleanor had entered his life, Alexander did not hide behind duty. He simply stood before her as a man who loved his wife and was terrified of losing her, and waited for her to tell him what she thought of that.
***
Eleanor could not move.
For several moments, she simply stood beneath the rain, staring at the man before her as though she feared that if she blinked, he would disappear, and she would find herself alone again with nothing but the storm and the ache she had carried for so long.
Her heart raced painfully, and the thunder surrounding them seemed insignificant compared to the chaos inside her.
She had imagined this moment in so many different ways, yet she had never imagined Alexander standing before her as he had, stripped of every defense he had spent years building.
He looked nothing like the distant duke who had kept her at arm’s length since the beginning of their marriage.
The man before her was vulnerable, uncertain, and painfully honest. He was the man she had glimpsed only in fleeting moments, the one who cared deeply but had hidden that tenderness beneath years of restraint.
Seeing him drenched by the storm and looking at her as though she were something precious he feared losing made every emotion she had tried to suppress rise all at once.
Before she could find the words to answer him, Alexander moved.
His hand came around her waist, and the careful distance he had held onto for so long finally broke.
He pulled her against him, his fingers tightening in the soaked fabric at her back as though he needed the reassurance that she was truly there and that the moment was not another thing he would lose.
Eleanor barely had time to breathe before his lips met hers.
The world disappeared.
The storm, the inn, the road behind her, and the life she had nearly chosen with another man all faded away.
There was only Alexander holding her, only the warmth of him against the cold rain, only the overwhelming reality that the man she had spent weeks believing she could never reach was finally there.
Eleanor clutched him tightly, her hands gripping his coat as though he might vanish if she loosened her hold. She had wanted him for so long that it almost frightened her.
His kiss carried everything she had been missing; the affection she had doubted existed, the tenderness she had convinced herself she imagined, and the reassurance that the connection between them had never been one-sided.
The pain of the past weeks did not disappear, but she no longer felt as though she were carrying it alone.
When Alexander finally pulled back, he remained close, his forehead resting against hers while the rain continued to fall around them.
His breathing was unsteady, and there was still uncertainty in his eyes, as though even after everything he had confessed, he feared she might still walk away. She looked up at him. His hand remained at her back, gentle rather than desperate.
“Eleanor,” he whispered. “Come home.”
The words were simple, but she understood everything behind them. He was not asking her to return because she was his duchess or because Ashbourne needed its mistress. He was asking because he wanted her beside him. She swallowed against the emotion tightening her throat.
“I thought I had already lost you,” he admitted.
“You nearly did.”
“I know, and I do not want to lose you again,” he said quietly.
Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of everything that had brought them there. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the man she had fallen in love with.
“If you do not want to lose me, then take me home.”
The relief that crossed his face was almost enough to heal her heart altogether.
“Do you mean it?”
“Yes. I want to go home, Alexander. Take me there.”
Alexander kissed her again, but this time there was no desperation behind it.
The urgency had faded, replaced by something quieter and far more meaningful.
It was a kiss filled with tenderness and gratitude, and, at last, Eleanor felt completely certain that she was not merely standing beside him because circumstances had placed her there. She was there because he chose her.
But the moment lasted only seconds longer before it was violently interrupted.
A crash echoed from behind them, followed by the unmistakable sound of wood splintering. Eleanor turned sharply as the door behind them burst open, the force of it sending fragments of broken wood skittering across the floor of the inn entrance.
Julian stood in the doorway.
Rain poured from his coat, his hair was soaked, and his face had lost every trace of the charming ease he usually displayed, but beneath the anger was something far more unsettling. He looked shaken, almost as though the sight before him had confirmed a fear he had refused to acknowledge.
His gaze moved from Eleanor to Alexander and then down to where their hands were still joined. Alexander immediately shifted, placing himself slightly between them. Julian stared at them for a long moment before speaking.
“You chose him.”
His voice was quiet, but the bitterness beneath it was impossible to miss. Eleanor felt Alexander’s hand tighten around hers. Julian had finally seen the truth. Eleanor had not truly wanted him, and she had never loved him.
Instead, she had been waiting for Alexander.