Preview Outrageous in October #2
Because Father didn’t care to plan much of anything, especially something as frivolous as a ball for his daughter’s come out, he’d tasked Eliza with some of the more onerous details, one being the room for the ladies to see to their needs, which she’d intentionally put down this hall.
A statue of Aphrodite stood guard against one wall, and just behind the mountain of marble was a servant’s door which led to the garden.
Eliza took one last look around. A footman passed by, but no one else.
Slipping through the door, she inhaled the much cooler night air with pleasure. The ballroom had grown stuffy with so many guests pressed together. Her slippers trod the well-worn path to the greenhouse, situated at the far end of the gardens.
The greenhouse had once been the domain of Eliza’s mother, who’d liked to putter about the dirt and plants, but after her death, the structure had stood empty and unused, until the Duke of Courtland discovered how much he liked oranges, of all things.
Now there was a neat line of orange trees, a pair of lemon trees, and a slightly ailing kumquat.
Taking a deep breath, Eliza steeled her determination to carry out her scheme this evening. Her plan was simple. Solid. Father would come around. She stepped inside, the warmer air after being in the garden, prickling the skin of her arms.
“I worried you’d run off with Miner.” A low voice came from the darkness with more than a hint of amusement.
“I considered as much,” she returned. “But I’m in the mood for an orange and was lured by the scent.”
Ridiculous, really. The aroma swirling around her was of spice and clean linen, an aroma which belonged to him alone.
He didn’t know it, but the missing cravat whose loss he’d bemoaned, thinking he’d left it in a hack, was beneath her pillow because the silk carried his scent. Close to her when he could not be.
A soft laugh filled the air. “You don’t like oranges, my lady. Though I happen to adore them. I grew worried you might not be able to escape the ballroom. Or Edward.”
“I was more concerned you might not put aside the charms of Miss Henway. And Edward is far too busy drinking his way through my father’s champagne to notice where I’ve gone.”
He came closer, stepping into the moonlight until it glinted off his chiseled jaw and revealed the slope of his neck.
Julian Hyde was wonderfully attractive, with a boyish manner and an entirely wicked sense of humor.
It was difficult, at times, to watch him so effortlessly charm the gaggle of young ladies who followed him about.
He had neither title nor great prospects—Lord Everhurst, his father, did not possess the wealth for it—but Julian was still sought after.
“Miss Henway?” Julian laughed, the sound filling her soul. “Perhaps she reminds me of Mrs. Wellington. She has a most pronounced beak.”
Miss Henway possessed a rather large nose.
“I do miss Mrs. Wellington,” he said with a sigh. “She was delightful, though she had a fowl temper.”
Eliza giggled. “You’re an imbecile.”
There were many reasons to be in love with Julian Hyde, not the least of which was his endearingly terrible puns.
He was rarely composed, at least not in the manner of her father and Edward, who both considered humor to be the province of the lower classes.
He also had an odd eccentricity of speaking to animals, addressing them as if they were people, a habit Julian blamed on his having been raised nearly alone since his brothers were so much older than he.
I’d no one else to talk to, Eliza. I was in the middle of the bloody country.
Mrs. Wellington, the chicken, was long gone, but Julian had a pet bird named Blackbeard—because he’s a parrot and likely belonged to a pirate—and a rabbit—Mr. Peterson—who ate bits of lettuce from his hand. Eliza had caught him talking to his horse—Vicar Rhodes—on more than one occasion.
Eliza loved him all the more for these oddities, which made Julian…Julian.
“My heart sees no one but you, Eliza Wade, as well you know.” His arms encircled her waist, pulling her closer to his delicious warmth. “I am blind to all others. Which is why I run into things occasionally.”
She trailed her fingers along his chest, raising her mouth to his. Standing on her toes, Eliza kissed him, gently, her heart beating wildly about, though she’d kissed Julian dozens of times. Still, her body ached each time, wanting more of him.
He smiled, pressing his forehead against her own. “Come. I would not waste a moment.”
Julian pulled Eliza through the orange trees to the more secluded section of the greenhouse, a spot they’d made their own since returning to London.
A worn quilt was laid out behind the ailing kumquat.
Julian had lit no lamp because they could not risk discovery, but the moon shone through the glass above, bathing the area in muted light.
“The duke is playing cards with Whipple. Edward is drinking as much of my father’s champagne as possible, and August is chasing skirts about. No one will miss me for some time.”
She settled on the quilt, spreading out her skirts, careful that no dirt touched the hem. Father wasn’t greatly observant when it came to her, fortunately, but she didn’t want him to suddenly become observant tonight of all nights.
“You are beautiful,” Julian’s mouth trailed down the length of her neck, sending a tingle along her arms. “Swirling about in pale pink, like a rose bud unfurling.”
“You’re ridiculous. Possibly biased in your opinion.”
“Oh, undoubtedly.” He nipped at her skin.
“There is something I want you to do.” She shivered as his lips ghosted over the slope of her neck, his fingers slipping beneath the neckline of her gown to tease at the tip of one breast.
“I plan to do a great deal. Wait…” He stopped, pinching her nipple. “Do you wish me to smite someone? Please tell me it isn’t August. He’s enormous. I would be as Odysseus fighting the Cyclops. He’d toss me up in the air and—”
“Stop!” Eliza swatted at him. “I am being quite serious.” She’d thought long and hard about her decision, but it was the only way to force Father to allow her to wed Julian.
“Ruin me,” she blurted out. “Tonight. Before you protest”—she pressed her fingers to his lips—“know that it is the only way to guarantee we will marry. You can go to my father and insist on doing the right thing. Look contrite. I’ll be…compromised and thus unable to wed anyone else. Soiled.”
“I am honorable,” Julian huffed. “Somewhat. I will not soil you, as you so politely put it. I would do things properly, Eliza. Ask for your hand. Good God, do you want your cousin to beat me to a pulp? Call me out? There won’t be anything left for you to love.”
“Not Edward?”
“He’s a sot, Eliza. We both know it. He was ahead of me at Eton, but still, the tales that were told about his drinking at the local taverns…? Did you know an entire crate of empty bottles of whisky was found in his rooms?”
Eliza bit her lip. She didn’t doubt it.
“At any rate, it isn’t wise.”
“August will not object, I promise. As long as you intend to be honorable and wed me, both he and Edward will be agreeable.”
At least, she hoped as much. Edward was a terrible snob.
“My father will not care if we love each other, Julian. That is the truth of it. Your pedigree isn’t nearly as ancient as my own, and Viscount Everhurst, while comfortable, is not obnoxiously wealthy. That won’t be good enough for the Duke of Courtland. You know it as well as I.”
“Even so, Eliza.” His lips curled into a frown. “I can take a commission though it holds little appeal. But soldiering is as good an option as any. You could be an officer’s wife. Can you cook over a campfire?”
“Be serious.” She huffed at him. “If he fears I might be with child or that he can no longer bargain my virtue, my father will be forced to agree. I am right about this, Julian.”
Julian had some insane notion that if he offered for her, confessed his affection, Father would simply hand her over. But Eliza’s father wouldn’t care about any of that. In his mind, love had nothing to do with marriage. He would wed to a title for power. Wealth. Connections. Property.
And while she loved Julian Hyde more than anything or anyone in the world, he possessed none of those.
“Even if you were the heir, viscount is not nearly high enough a rank in my father’s estimation.
You know that as well as I.” Eliza pressed a kiss to his lips.
“Had there been a duke this Season, he might already have wed me before I even danced tonight.” She pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
“You are barely acceptable, as an acquaintance of Edward and August.”
He absently toyed with her breast, stroking the slope and grazing the nipple once more.
Eliza shivered with longing. Always so much longing for Julian.