Chapter 11
Dorian’s kiss was delightfully unexpected, but that didn’t stop Ellie from relaxing her lips and allowing him to carry on. She did not think about the people watching.
She did not think about their bargain. In fact, she did not think about anything except that being held and kissed by this man made her body sing. His taste was familiar, and his embrace full of possession and protection.
The church was soundless as they pulled apart, and a wicked light flashed in Dorian’s eyes— that was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?
Soon, they were turning to face the crowd, most of whom seemed to be still shocked by the fact that the Duke of Wolfthorne had finally taken a bride.
She turned to see her aunt’s face deathly pale, shock on her cousin’s, and pure vitriol from a few ladies who sat alone.
They gazed with glowing, jealous eyes as they complimented her perfect coils and pearl-strewn curls.
The spite was masked by polite smiles, but if the jealousy could kill, she would have been dead ten times over.
I believe I have just removed the most eligible bachelor in London from the marriage market.
“Are we staying for the breakfast?” She inclined her head to whisper.
“Yes and no,” Dorian replied, his hand resting on the small of her back. “We are going to meet a few people, and then leave. They will have the breakfast to themselves.”
“People, meaning my uncle, aunt, and Carrington?” she replied. “I know he is here.”
“Precisely. He is the last one we will speak with,” Dorian nodded, “As with two of my other friends. Though I fear that I will not escape this room without being ambushed.” His hold on her body turned polite. “When we speak with your relatives, follow my lead.”
“You have friends,” she murmured as they came to the end of the room. “Consider me astonished.”
The subtle thud of a cane had her heartbeat ratcheting up. “I must say, Your Grace,” Carrington’s calm words were brittle. “You do know how to pull off the impossible.”
Dorian’s jaw clenched, but the aggravation vanished in a moment. He pulled Ellie to his side as they turned. Carrington’s gaze held the full measure of the tense situation. A muscle twisted near his left eye while his gaze was filled with smoldering designs of revenge.
“Miss Fra—oh, pardon me, Your Grace,” he said spitefully while his narrowed gaze shifted to Dorian. “Did His Grace inform you your uncle and I were searching far and wide for you?”
“No,” she said sweetly. Dorian had advised her on how to deal with her family, but not Carrington. Acting surprised, she looked between them. “You two are acquainted?”
“More than,” Carrington murmured venomously. “He is my protégé.”
“Was,” Dorian said stiffly. “I was your apprentice. Would you mind if we carried on this conversation at the wedding breakfast?”
“I won’t be attending,” Carrington said with a little bow. “My felicitations to you two. Send me word when you return from your honeymoon.”
When he left, Ellie let the shudder she had been holding back loose. “He is not happy.”
“He is murderous,” Dorian said as the carriage came to their feet. “He’ll simmer a little and then concoct a way to get back at me—” He helped her into the carriage and then hopped in as well, “—And that is why I need to get you to the estate as soon as possible.”
Worriedly, Ellie removed the veil from her head. “What do you think he will do?”
Rapping on the roof, Dorian settled back and pulled the window curtain down. “Anything from sabotaging my businesses or getting his henchmen to attack me. I do not want you to be in the middle of that.”
Her shoulders slumped. “For every two things you tell me, I feel you leave four out.”
“That’s the best thing,” Dorian hooked a finger under the window flap and looked out.
“Dorian,” Ellie said, while heeding his order to call him by his given name. “Do you even think you will have a normal life? One away from the Shadowy Underworld? When was the last time you went somewhere without looking over your shoulder, or not changed houses three times in a week?”
He pulled away and stretched out a long leg. “I’ll untangle myself one day.”
Her mind spun. “What more do you want?”
“To find my traitorous uncle,” Dorian finished. “As I told you. Carrington has that information, and it is the only reason I have played his game of push and pull. He thinks I am still in the nest with him while I have been moving my twigs little by little.”
The carriage rolled to a stop at a secret entrance to Almacks, and before he stepped out, he peeled off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Dorian alighted first to help her down and into the assembly room, but halfway to the doors, he paused.
“Dorian?” She asked, holding onto the lapels. “What is it?”
His gaze floated up to the building ahead of them, something flickering over his face—hesitation. He shook his head. “No, we do not need to be here.”
She paused. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“I did,” he said. “But now I have decided otherwise. It is better if we leave and let the rumor vine swell.”
Casting a look over her shoulder, Ellie murmured, “Another piece of your puzzle, I assume?”
“Yes,” he escorted her back to the carriage and ordered the driver to head off to Kent. “No sense in waiting.”
Instead of handing him back the jacket, she settled into a corner and wrapped it tighter around her. “What do you expect when we do return?”
“If I am lucky? Bedlam.”
Dusk was darkening the sky by the time they arrived at the manor house. Ellie sat up from her doze—only to find that her head was on Dorian’s shoulder. When had he moved to the other side of the vehicle?
Peeking out the window, she saw a house, at least a century old, but had good bones. The two-story manor had lovely symmetry with sweeping wings to each side. Rich verdant vines climbed around the columns to the eaves above the main entrance, and up the sides of the gingerbread stone.
A pair of footmen were waiting at the doors for them, and when they descended the vehicle, the men bowed, “Welcome, Your Graces, to Somerton Manor. Your Grace, Mr. Baxter has prepared for you and Her Grace’s arrival. Please, come with me.”
“Evelina,” Dorian said as he stepped through the door. “These are Seton and James, two of my trusted footmen. Just like with Bennet, you can rely on them for whatever needs you have.”
He’s already pulling away from me.
“Thank you,” she smiled to the two.
“Our pleasure,” the second one, James, bowed.
Entering the understated but elegant foyer, a man, a woman, both with silver at their temples, and in the woman’s case, streaked through her hair, and a young woman in maid grey, stood. The man bowed, and the two women curtsied.
“Welcome home, Your Graces,” the man said.
“Thank you, Baxter,” Dorian nodded curtly, then to Ellie added, “He is the butler of this house, and his wife, Susan Baxter, is the housekeeper. Miss Agnes Smith here is now your lady’s maid.”
Never having such help before, Evelina was not sure how to respond; the simplest thing she could do was smile. “I am pleased to meet you all. And thank you.”
“As are we, Your Grace,” Mrs. Baxter replied. “Your chambers are ready, Sir, and supper will be at six.”
“Very good,” Dorian replied. “Let me show you to our chambers.”
Our chambers…
He nodded to a set of sweeping stairs that took them up to the middle level and down a corridor to the west wing. She passed well-appointed drawing rooms, a music room, and even the open doors to a vast library.
Down another chamber, he tugged a door open; the room beyond was fit for a queen, elegantly set with buttermilk damask covering the walls and an Aegean blue Aubusson upon the floor.
The medium-sized Ashwood four-poster had cream velvet hangings and a feather mattress, with matching wood furnishings around, dressers, nightstands, and even a divan near the French windows. The place smelled nice, fresh, clean, and crisp.
“These are your chambers, and over there—” he nodded to the left, “is your washroom.”
Relief washed through her as she realized he must have misspoken when he’d said our chambers. He crossed the room to a door she had not realized was there as it was covered in paint the color of the wallpaper.
“This is a sitting room between our chambers,” he added. “This is where we will talk, have meals, possibly argue as well. And before you ask, with how strongheaded you are and how stubborn I am, we will argue.”
Ellie rubbed her nose to hide her soft laugh, “As sad as it is, you are right.”
He looked over his shoulder. “This is not the marriage chamber, of course, but I am respecting your wishes to stay apart.”
Gravitating to the bed, she traced her fingers over the carved post. “If we are supposed to be separate, why the connection chamber?”
“In case I need to get to you in an emergency,” he replied. “And please don’t ask me what those may be because those are an endless possibility. Be assured that I will not infringe on your privacy, nor should you do so with mine.”
“I promise,” she said.
“You are off to your own devices,” he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I’ll be in my study doing some work. We’ll share supper tonight.”
She cocked her head. “Is that added or deducted from our agreement to share meals?”
“Neither,” he shook his head. “This is an exception.”
Ellie removed the jacket from her shoulders and handed it to him. “Thank you.”
He was slow to take the jacket, but he did. “I’ll see you at supper.”
Two hours later, after a long bath, assisted by her new maid Agnes, who washed her hair—something Ellie knew she would have to get accustomed to because she always had to do these tasks herself—she paused at the door of the shared sitting room between her and Dorian’s chambers.
Clad in a white silk wrapper embroidered with lilies and vines, with a matching nightgown beneath—another indulgent purchase from the modiste—her hair was left loose, the maid having brushed the dried strands until they gleamed.
There was a haphazard scattering of lamps and candles that cast a warm golden glow over the room; the table was not set, nor was Dorian there.
“I suppose I’ll have to wait then,” she murmured.
By the time the clock struck six, Agnes was at the door with the rolling cart, their supper covered by wide glass cloches. The maid set the table while Ellie kept an eye on the door.
When Dorian did not arrive, she asked, “Is His Grace usually tardy?”
“I wish I could tell you, Your Grace,” Agnes replied. “He is not at the house much, so I do not know his timing. I apologize.”
“No, no,” Ellie waved her apology away. “Nothing to apologize for. Thank you.”
Agnes excused herself, and Ellie settled in to wait… and wait some more. When she got tired, she began to explore the room, touching the small trinkets sprinkled around the room while the candles had begun to shrink in time with Ellie’s patience.
This did not feel right—was Dorian intentionally spurning her when he’d agreed to this?
Huffing out a breath, she left the room, intending to find him.
“Your Grace?” Agnes was passing by with a bucket of cleaning materials. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes. Can you please point me in the direction where Dor—His Grace’s study is?” Ellie asked.
“Of course. Please, follow me.” Agnes abandoned the bucket and hurried down a corridor that took them to a room at the very back of the manor. There, she knocked on a set of wide, double oak doors.
“Your Grace? I apologize for the interruption,” Agnes said. “Her Grace is here to see you.”
The muffled order came. “She may come.”
After a quick thanks to Agnes, she stepped inside, only to blink at the pervasive darkness in the room. It took her a moment to adjust before walking to the two points of light in the room.
Dorian was not hunched over on a pile of ledgers like she’d expected; instead, he was slumped in his chair, his waistcoat off, his cravat gone, two buttons of his shirt pulled, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Halfway there, he turned away from her. She could see his hand flexing, and for a moment, she paused. She knew he had heard her enter; if he was doing anything illicit, he would not have allowed her in.
“Dorian?” She neared to find him fingering a set of pendants dangling from his fingers. “I assume you’ve lost track of time, but we are supposed to have supper—” her eyes flickered to the ormolu clock on the mantel, “—an hour and fifteen minutes ago.”
He pulled out a drawer and dropped the pendants into it, then stood. “I apologize.”
His tone was withdrawn, his shadowed face pensive. This was not what she had expected from him. If it was not for the white of his shirt, his dark hair and trousers would have merged into the dark paneled walls, mullioned windows, and the massive fireplace.
“Are you—” she reached out, but let her hand drop, “—feeling well?”
“Yes,” his tone had changed back to the brusque tone she was used to getting from him. “Let’s have supper.”
A dozen concerns lingered on the tip of her tongue, but she felt that he would not be receptive; it was too soon to be digging into his private affairs. She followed him back to the joint chamber where the cart was placed and ready for them.
She paused to look for another candle as the others had burned to nothing. Dorian stopped her, found a set, and lit them. Placing them in dual candle holders, he set them on the table.
“I’ve been told that candlelight dinner is a romantic hallmark,” Dorian murmured as he settled into the chair.
The vee of his shirt also gave a tantalizing glimpse of the coarse hair that lightly furred his chest. The delicious meal of chicken stew, herbed potatoes, and side dishes was accompanied by wine.
She slathered her crusty slice of bread with creamy butter, her eyes closing briefly at the pleasure of that humble yet timeless pairing.
“That moan was indecent,” he muttered.
She paused, “What moan?”
He chuckled throatily. “So innocent.”
She speared a sliver of potato, “Why were you so distracted?”
“I was lost in thought,” he told her.
Ellie considered her next words. “The pendant in your hand was so delicate, it seems like something a lady would have owned. Was it a keepsake of a woman you once loved?”