Chapter 18
Glumly, Ellie blew out the candles surrounding the dinner she’d hoped Dorian would attend. With the clock striking half-past eleven, it was clear he had no intention of making right on his promise to share meals with her.
Having little appetite herself, she instructed the staff to take back the food, then went to her rooms, taking the glass of wine—her third, possibly fourth—with her.
While passing the mirror, she sighed in defeat. “Why did I wear the nightgown Victoria sent me? He probably wouldn’t have cared if I pranced through the room naked.”
Setting the glass on the end table, she stripped the wrapper away and placed it over the back of a chair. She peeled the bedsheets back before slipping under them. Dimming the lamp on her bedside, she pulled the pins from her hair and reached for the wine.
What was I trying to do… seduce him?
The fine muslin of her nightgown couldn’t hide a thing even if it was folded twice. She took a large sip of her wine, feeling pleasantly warm and languid.
A breeze shivered against her cheek, and she looked to the window—only to find her vision start to dance… wait, how many cups had she had? Frowning, she realized she felt ever so slightly tipsy.
She finished the glass and put it on the table, before allowing her eyes to land on the door between her rooms and Dorian’s.
Where is he?
Something tempted her to get out and barge across the small corridor, bang on his door, and demand an explanation. As she stepped down from the bed, however, her world wobbled, and she gently retreated to the solid, stationary mass of her mattress.
“Another time,” she mumbled to herself. Rubbing a hand down her bodice, she wondered aloud, “What was I thinking? Pah.”
Seduce a seducer… and for what?
She felt like a ninny. What about a marriage of convenience led to seduction—and her ultimate ruination? If she were to marry after this union dissolved, she needed to have her purity maintained.
The last thing she could remember was Victoria’s question… Was she happy?
“This doesn’t feel like it…” she whispered to herself before she dozed off.
Her dreams were a swathe of mist and old memories; Ash’s face swirling before her again, the boy’s white hair and bright eyes, so innocent and kind, faded into Dorian’s hard gaze and stern jaw.
Her heart lurched. Something did not feel right here. The two had nothing in common.
Then, something miraculous happened. Ash opened his mouth and whispered, “Evelina…”
“Ash…” she mumbled.
He said her name again. “Evelina. Wake up.”
Confused, she reached out to touch Ash… but her hand met skin. Warm skin. His voice came again. “Wake up, Evelina.”
Her eyes peeled open—very heavily—and she saw that her hand was on Dorian’s cheek. As her gaze was hazy, she couldn’t discern the precise color of his dark and heavy-lidded eyes. The lower half of his face was chiseled, his jaw strong and firm, an intriguing contrast to the fullness of his lips.
“Dorian…?”
His face seemed to fall. “Good god, woman, how many bottles of wine have you had tonight?”
“Not—not much,” she grumbled, trying to rise but immediately being pressed back down to the bed. “Maybe three glasses… perhaps five.”
Something close to sympathy—or was that pity?—crossed his face.
“That’s it.” He flicked the bedsheets off her, then slid his hands under her back and knees before lifting her. “You are sleeping in my bed today. I cannot risk you getting sick tonight with no help.”
The sudden movement had her grabbing at his arm to settle herself, and her eyes suddenly went dark as he crossed the little room in between.
Vaguely, she felt him arrive in his chamber, before drawing the bedcovers back, as he gently laid her down on his bed. It was a tad firmer than she would have liked, but the pillows held the same scent she had found on Dorian: sandalwood and clean water.
The fire across the room was bright enough for her to see him. He was in his shirtsleeves; his silk cravat was open around his throat, and his forest green waistcoat fit like it had been sewn onto his lean torso.
She watched blearily as he disrobed, dropping the silk cloth on a chair before unbuttoning the waistcoat. Her breath hitched when he flexed his shoulders and pulled off his shirt. Her fingertips itched to trail over his granite-hard chest, his corrugated abdomen, and steel-like shoulders.
“… Gadz,” she whispered.
His eyes gleamed up at her as he removed his boots and undid his breeches. She kept her eyes on his chest as he tugged on a loose pair of trousers.
He slid in beside her and gave her a teasing eye. “Not what you expected?”
“No,” she reached out and laid a hand on his skin. Having never touched a naked male chest before, she hadn’t known what to expect.
The combination of hair-dusted skin and flexing muscle filled her with wonder. Marveling, she ran her fingers up the lean ridges of his abdomen to the powerful slabs of his heaving pectorals.
She squirmed, her mind still fuzzy. What was she supposed to do next? What would he do to her? Remembering his salacious touch, she searched out his nipple with her fingertips. She circled the flat nub, caressing him as he’d caressed her.
He grabbed her hand. “Do not start something you cannot finish, Evelina.”
His rough words left her in a stunned whisper. Dorian’s gaze was heavy and artlessly seductive, not with effort but with an unpretentious, shadowy sensuality.
“I’m… sorry…” she whispered.
“Don’t be sorry,” he coaxed, while pulling her into his side and higher on a pillow. “Now, care to tell me what was going through your mind as you drank yourself into a wheelbarrow?”
“You were late to dinner…” she whispered, her side plastered against his hard form. Her cheek rested against his firm chest, feeling the consistent rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
He let out a long breath. “I know, and I apologize. There was a very crucial meeting I had to take, and I suppose I did not mind the time as I should have. It will not happen again, I give you my word.”
His heat permeated through her, his spicy musk filling her nostrils. She was all too aware that his state of undress matched hers: only his thin trousers, her stocking-clad leg, and her dainty nightgown separated their skin.
“You promise?” she murmured.
“That is what I give you my word means,” Dorian quirked a brow to her. “God’s blood, you are drunk.”
“I am not,” she bumbled.
He leaned forward suddenly, and with his glimmering amber eyes so close, Ellie likened him to one of the large cats in the jungle that would lie in wait and then pounce.
Now that he was so close, she could smell his scent—something male and divine that made her feel warm and safe even as her heart thudded wildly at his proximity. Thoughts entered her head. Dangerous, forbidden thoughts. Thoughts she had no business having.
The flickering firelight deepened his rapacious intensity. “Really? Tell me, what sort of tea did you have at Lady Victoria’s earlier today?”
She blinked, “Hyson… I think. No, it was Souchong…”
He snorted. “You’re drunk, sweetheart, and why did you wear this nightgown?”
Ellie moistened her lips. “I don’t… know.”
“Yes, you do,” he corrected.. “Now, be honest and tell me.”
Nuzzling closer, Ellie whispered, “I remembered how you looked at me the night I first wore a nightgown—” She sighed dreamily. “—I wanted to see that look again.”
“I appreciate the honesty,” he smiled. “But if you are expecting anything more to happen, it will not.”
“Why?”
“You are inebriated,” Dorian explained. “I have a hard and fast rule: nothing intimate happens nor will happen when either party is drunk.”
Ellie sighed. “May I propose a change to our agreement?
He didn’t blink. “Are you happy with the way things are?”
“No,” she replied, lifting herself up to her elbows. “I want more.”
“More of what?” his voice dropped.
“I want a real marriage,” she mumbled. A part of her thanked the wine for freeing her tongue, as otherwise, her seemingly silly—and unexpected—desire would have never come to light.
“I have f…feelings for you, Dorian… real ones. I know this is a marriage of convenience… and these emotions are utterly inconvenient—”
“Very.”
In her admission, she felt as if a puzzle piece that she had felt missing finally slipped into place, opening a secret chamber inside herself.
Shifting to lay her flat on her back, Dorian loomed over her, his eyes glimmering in the low light. “What more do you want?”
He had bracketed her head in with both elbows, bookending her head, so she had no other choice but to look him in the eyes. “I want to touch you,” she confessed. “…Like you have done to me.”
“Evelina—”
“Don’t you dare tell me I am too innocent!” she glared at him.
In the next breath, he was upon her. His lips took hers in a kiss of burning possession as he pressed her back into the pillows. When he pulled back, his voice was low and purring. “That’s true, you’re not so innocent anymore, Evelina. But you are still drunk.”
He moved to the side and pulled her atop his chest, his hand skating over her back. “Let’s revisit this amorous suggestion tomorrow, and as for our marriage, I will think about what to do next.”
“But—”
“Without interference,” he cut in sternly. “That is the bargain. Take it or leave it.”
Snuggled under his arm, she murmured, “We should do this more often. I don’t know why we haven’t.”
“Ah, yes, drunken negotiations always work in my favor,” Dorian said dryly. “That’s how I made my fortune at the club.”
Ellie’s eyes were gently lowering as he spoke. “We do well with negotiations,” she mumbled.
“It is not my preferred state when discussing sexual desires, though, so the next time you want to discuss such a thing, refrain from the wine,” Dorian added.
“Mhmhm,” Ellie hummed.
“And if you’re going to be clever and use distraction as your modus to get me to agree to your demands, you’d best be naked in my bed before you do so,” Dorian teased.
When she didn’t reply, he craned his head to her, only to sigh, “And you’re already asleep, aren’t you?”
The faint strains of dawn met Dorian awake and prepared. A rag was in cold water waiting for Ellie to wake, and so was a dram of laudanum ready if she needed it. His head swiveled to the side.
As she still slept, her cheeks were charmingly flushed, and her hair was a fan over his linen pillows. She was the very picture of wanton innocence.
In the soft light, her nightgown was nearly transparent. He swallowed as he took in the generous mounds of her breasts that would fill his hands if they did become intimate. Her softly rounded hips were made for a man’s hands to hold onto, and her slim legs were perfect to hoist over his shoulders.
Christ, she would tempt a saint—and he was no saint. He was a sex-starved husband who’d wanted her since he’d kidnapped her to his cabin months ago. His erection was thick beneath his soft trousers.
She’s soused. Get yourself under bloody control.
She began to stir, and Dorian rested his cup of coffee on the end table. Her lashes swept up, and then she instantly tightened. “Good god, what have I done?”
Sympathetically, he plucked the rag from the icy water, squeezed the liquid out, and then rested it on her forehead. “It will pass, sweetheart.”
She held the cloth to her head. “Wine is now the bane of my existence. I am not drinking a drop again.”
“I wouldn’t go so far,” Dorian replied, holding back a snort. “Moderation, dear.”
Puffing out a breath, she peeled an eye open. “I’m surprised you are still here with me.”
Drawing a leg up and resting his arm on his knees, Dorian quirked a brow. “You drank an entire bottle of Spanish wine last night. Where else would I be, Evelina?”