Chapter Fifteen #2
Eliza felt heat rise in her cheeks; not from flattery, but from the violation of being assessed like merchandise. "I find my position quite satisfactory, thank you."
"Do you?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping to something more intimate. "I confess I find it difficult to imagine you buried away in this remote place, wasting your youth on Latin primers and nursery rhymes. A woman like you belongs to a place where she can be appreciated."
The word hung in the air, laden with meaning that had nothing to do with professional respect.
"Miss Harrow is appreciated here." Alistair's voice cut through the conversation like a blade. His knuckles had gone white around his fork. "Her work with Henry has been invaluable."
"I'm sure it has." Thornton's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in his eyes; awareness, perhaps, that he had pushed too far, or amusement at having provoked a reaction.
"I meant no offence, of course. Merely expressing admiration for a woman who has clearly made the best of her circumstances. "
"Indeed." Alistair rose from the table with barely concealed abruptness. "If you'll excuse me, I have correspondence to attend to. Miss Harrow, I believe Henry wanted to show you his astronomy book before bed."
It was a dismissal and an escape route. Eliza took it gratefully, rising so quickly she nearly knocked over her water glass.
"Of course, Your Grace. Lord Thornton, good evening."
"Good evening, Miss Harrow." Thornton's voice followed her to the door, smooth as oil. "I look forward to becoming better acquainted during my stay."
She didn't respond. She didn't trust herself to respond without betraying the revulsion churning in her stomach.
***
Later that night, she found Alistair in the library.
She had been unable to sleep because of the memory of Thornton's eyes on her, and the oily smoothness of his voice. She had wrapped herself in a shawl and crept downstairs, seeking the comfort of books and solitude, only to find the library already occupied.
Alistair was standing by the window, staring out at the moonlit snow, a glass of brandy untouched in his hand.
The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the room, and in its flickering light, he looked older somehow.
Wearier. The weight of responsibility, and something else, something darker, pressing down on his shoulders.
He turned when she entered, and she saw the tension in every line of his body. He looked like a man who had been fighting a battle with himself and losing.
"I wanted to thank you," she said. "For intervening at dinner."
"Thornton is…" He stopped, visibly collecting himself. "He has a reputation with women. I should have remembered before I allowed him to stay."
"What kind of reputation?"
"The kind that makes careful mothers lock up their daughters when he comes to call.
" His voice was bitter, laced with self-recrimination.
"He's never been caught at anything, he's too clever for that, but there are rumours.
Servants dismissed under mysterious circumstances.
Young women who leave his employ with haunted eyes and sealed lips.
A vicar's daughter who was found wandering the roads after spending a weekend at his country house, unable to speak of what had happened. "
A chill ran down Eliza's spine. "Why is he still received in society?"
"Because he's wealthy, titled, and charming.
Because the women he targets are always those without power: governesses, maids, the daughters of impoverished gentry.
Women whose word means nothing against his.
" Alistair's hand tightened on his glass until she thought it might shatter.
"Women that society doesn't care to protect. "
"Women like me."
"Yes." He turned to face her fully. "I won't let him hurt you, Eliza. I swear it. But I need you to be careful. Don't be alone with him. Don't let him corner you in hallways or empty rooms. Don't give him any opportunity to…"
"I understand." She crossed to him, close enough to touch, though she kept her hands at her sides. "I've dealt with men like him before. I know how to protect myself."
"You shouldn't have to." His voice cracked slightly, raw with emotion he couldn't quite contain. "You're under my roof, under my protection. The fact that he would even look at you, that he would dare to speak to you that way in my own dining room…"
"You cannot challenge every man who looks at me, Alistair."
"Can I not?" There was something dangerous in his voice now, something possessive and primitive that sent a thrill through her despite the circumstances. "He's a guest under my roof. He should know better than to pursue the woman I…"
He stopped.
"The woman you what?" she asked softly.
"The woman I love." He set down his glass with careful precision, as if he didn't trust his hands not to shake. "The woman I want to marry. The woman who, if she'll have me, will be the Duchess of Northmere by spring."
"Alistair…"
"I know." He held up a hand. "You need time.
You have reservations. I understand, and I respect that.
But watching him look at you tonight…" His jaw tightened.
"It took everything I had not to throw him out into the snow.
To tell him exactly who you are to me and exactly what I would do to him if he so much as touched you. "
"Why didn't you?"
"Because you haven't accepted yet. Because until you do, I have no right to claim you publicly. Because…" He exhaled, a sound of frustration and longing. "Because I don't want to ruin your reputation before you've decided whether you want it ruined."
The dark humor of the statement made her smile despite everything. "Very considerate of you."
"I try." He reached out and took her hand, raising it to his lips. "But know that my feelings haven't changed. If anything, watching Thornton look at you tonight…" He closed his eyes. "It only made me more certain. You're mine, Eliza. Or you will be, if you'll have me."
The possessiveness in his voice should have bothered her. Instead, it sent a thrill through her body.
"Good night, Alistair."
"Good night." He released her hand reluctantly, his fingers lingering against hers. "Lock your door tonight. Please."
"I will."
She left him there, standing alone in the moonlit library, and made her way back to her room with his warning echoing in her ears.
Lock your door.
She did. And she pushed a chair against it for good measure, lying awake long into the night, listening for footsteps that never came.