Chapter 6 #2
Elena opened her mouth, but no words came out.
She realized, with a jolt that made her stomach drop, that she did not know the answer.
Across the room, Damian’s gaze held hers for a single heartbeat.
It remained controlled and lethal. Because beneath it, a soft spot he would rather die than reveal shined from his gaze.
Something that looked very much like he wanted her to stay, and she realized she wanted to stay too.
She had a lot to figure out, and soon because it was time for her to make a decision.
The wedding was only two more days away.
Less than that really considering it was meant to be in the morning.
So perhaps thirty-six hours was more accurate…
So, time was running out, and she could not delay this decision any longer.
Before she made that decision she wanted some more time alone with the earl.
She would discover then what it was she wanted.
Rowan would kiss him and see if she felt everything she imagined she did, and she would see if his desire for her was real.
Only then would she take the time to consider it all and make her final choice.
If she felt there could be a future for them, then she would marry him.
But if there was no true passion there, what kind of marriage would they have?
She needed more from life than mere comfort.
She wanted a true marriage and a chance at a happy life.
Just because her father owed the earl money did not mean she had to offer herself up to pay that debt.
Some things were far too important than sacrificing everything for a gambling debt.
“I don’t know what I want,” she finally answered, “But I will figure it out and soon.” She took a deep breath. “If you will pardon me, I am going to go for a walk. I need to think.”
“Very well,” Rowan said, her voice dry. “Doona fall intae a loch. It would be inconvenient.”
Elena gave a soft huff that was almost a laugh. “I shall do my best.”
She turned away before Rowan could ask anything else.
With that she left Rowan alone to continue to share barbs with the marquess and before she could look again toward Damian and betray herself in front of the room.
Elena crossed the drawing room with measured steps, her chin lifted, her expression composed.
She would not flee and she would not run.
She would not allow the onlookers the satisfaction of thinking she had been cornered into panic.
But she could feel Damian’s attention as surely as a hand at her back.
It was steady, watchful, and possessive in a way that made her skin prickle.
She did not glance at him again until she reached the door and then she did.
Damian stood near the mantel, speaking with one of his guests in a tone so even it might have belonged to a man discussing the weather.
Yet his gaze found Elena at once, as if he had been waiting for the moment she looked.
There was no smile and his gaze certainly had not softened.
Only that controlled, lethal composure was evident and beneath it, so faint it might have been imagined…
the quiet plea of a man who wanted something he did not know how to ask for.
Elena’s breath caught. Her fingers tightened on the handle, and she forced herself to open the door and step into the corridor.
The hall beyond was cooler, dimmer and mercifully empty.
Her footsteps echoed as she moved toward the stairs, away from the murmurs of the drawing room, away from Rowan’s sharp protectiveness and Julian’s barbed presence and Lady Peregrine’s careful gaze.
Away from Damian…at least for the moment.
She descended the stairs on the balcony and slipped out through a side door into the gardens, where the air smelled of rain and green things, and the wind tugged at her hair as if trying to pull the pins loose.
The sky was still heavy with clouds, but the worst of the storm had passed, leaving the world washed clean and glistening.
Elena walked without direction at first, her thoughts too crowded, her heart too loud.
She had always believed choices would come with time—time to consider, time to weigh, time to breathe.
Yet here she was, on the verge of a marriage she had not wanted, in a place she had never intended to belong, with a man who infuriated her…
and unsettled her… and, most dangerously, tempted her.
Elena slowed near a hedge lined with late-blooming roses, their petals darkened with rain. She pressed a hand to her chest, as if she might physically steady the frantic beat of her heart.
What did she want? Freedom, yes. But she had never wanted freedom at the cost of emptiness. She had wanted a choice and she wanted, she suspected with reluctant honesty, someone who would not let her hide behind cleverness and pride forever.
A presence steady enough to withstand her storms. A man who could meet her gaze without flinching.
Elena’s breath came in a shudder. Damian wanted to tame the narrative, to shape the world around him until it made sense to him.
But did he truly want her? Or did he want the idea of her, sharp and strong and impressive enough to stand at his side like a trophy carved of ice?
Elena closed her eyes, the wind brushing damp strands of hair across her cheek.
She had to know and the only way to know was to stop thinking like a woman being pushed toward a chapel and start thinking like a woman who could choose her own fate.
She opened her eyes, turned toward the house, and continued walking… this time with purpose.
She would find the earl. Not in the drawing room and not before an audience. She wanted some time with him…alone. When she had him all to herself she would make her demands. Tell him what she wanted. That if they were to marry it had to be for the right reasons.
Because if she was to step into Rosebery Park’s chapel in thirty-six hours, she would do it with her eyes open.
With her heart certain and unafraid of what her future held.
Elena gathered her skirts and quickened her pace toward the side gardens and toward the path she knew led to the library wing.
Toward the man who had begun to haunt her thoughts like a question she could no longer ignore.
Toward the truth and to a desire she had been far too afraid of until then…