Chapter Twenty-Five #3
He didn’t look at her, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the sad scene in front of them. “Isn’t it a shame that we might have lost a truly great artist and know nothing about them?”
She didn’t quite understand his meaning. “I don’t see why it’s any sadder than the unknown artists in the other galleries. There’s plenty of them in this museum, lost artists.”
“Lost to time,” the marquis mused, but his tone was so soft she thought he was saying it more to himself.
They moved around the hall, adding to the echoing footsteps and occasionally pausing at a statue.
Eleanor didn’t want to look at them anymore and wished they were elsewhere, but she couldn’t resist stealing glances at the man standing next to her.
The rich indigo and silver long-coat and feathered hat momentarily distracted her from seeing the man himself.
He was beautiful, perfectly so. Every feature seemed as if it could have been chiselled from the cold stone in front of them.
His face was clear cut: a perfect balance of his elegant brows with his straight nose and full lips.
He held himself still, nearly impossibly still.
If it wasn’t for his colourful clothing, she could have mistaken him for being in the museum himself, posed on a podium for thousands of people to admire every day.
Despite the cold, distant look on his face, his mercury eyes felt warm to her.
“Tell me,” he said with a quick glance in her direction. “You have my undivided and uninterrupted attention. Why, instead of spending your time flirting and making your case to become my Favour, have you been giving me recommendations of the other courtesans?”
Eleanor swallowed. Shit , she’d done something wrong, something that had made her stand out again . “Your Lordship?”
“Your false surprise and sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed.” He raised a brow in challenge, daring her to say otherwise.
She coughed, uneasy with this type of conversation, and found herself wishing that he had a secret sex fetish. “Perhaps I think the other ladies would be more suited to your unique tastes?”
His lip curled. She didn’t know if he was pleased with her answer. “Oh, you have no idea about my unique tastes.”
She inhaled sharply and willed her knees not to drop. Somehow, he’d made that sentence sound far, far more obscene than it should have been.
“There’s a party tonight. Would you like to come?” he said, snapping her attention from watching Breninsol’s passing streets from the comfort of the carriage to the man next to her.
“With you?” Eleanor asked, trying to sense if this was some social court trap.
She understood why he paid for her time today under the excuse of their bargain.
But to ask her, rather than demand her presence by going straight to Madam Grace, confused her.
He simply desired her companionship, not to act out any sexual fantasies.
Unless this was some twisted, aristocratic sexual fantasy.
His suggestive words from the museum came back to her.
“I’m not having an orgy with you!” she blurted out.
His eyes flashed with something she couldn't read, and it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “As disappointed as you may be at the prospect, everyone will be fully clothed.”
Eleanor shifted her gaze to the brightly coloured shop canopies they were going past. “Why?”
“If you don’t want to…” he replied softly.
From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw uncertainty in him. “That’s not what I was asking. Why me? I’m sure there are plenty of court ladies who’d be more than willing…” she trailed off, subtly letting him realise her meaning.
“As strange as it may seem, I’ve come to like your company. You intrigue me, enough to extend an invitation to my party tonight.”
She raised a brow at his frankness. “You prefer the company of a courtesan over one of your own?” Eleanor couldn’t help the slight smile that found its way onto her lips.
He brushed at something on his trousers before he looked intently at her. “I think there’s more to you than your situation. The ladies of the court…they want something from me. Something I’m not willing to give.”
“And you don’t think I want something?”
His lip quirked. “Everyone wants something. But you…” His grey-blue eyes searched hers, as if they’d tell him what it is he was looking for, “Whatever you want, I don’t think I can give you.”
Eleanor hesitated, gazing out the window. They’d passed through the Centre and the city around them had made the steady transformation into the less affluent Exchange. “You’d need to talk to—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I know, but I’d like to ask you first.”
It didn’t escape her notice that he’d been seemingly honest with her, and she couldn’t help but like this side of the man.
She still couldn’t read his facial expressions, nor had he shown much emotion beyond boredom and mere amusement, but she’d enjoyed their conversations today despite their surroundings.
She wanted to see him again and push him to reveal more of himself.
Surprisingly, she felt like she could trust him, which was foolish of her.
She knew that one way or another, she’d only end up being disappointed.
The only way to avoid disappointment was to expect nothing at all. Life was easier that way.
“Fine,” she replied, not wanting him to think that he’d somehow gained something more from her.
It unsettled her. She didn’t know his true motive, or what he gained from this arrangement, but whatever it was, it wouldn’t be something that she’d be forced into just yet.
Eleanor arrived at The Ladies Grace with a mixed reception of scowls and amused smiles. Iris was leaning against the frame of Eleanor’s room. “So, you did bag the marquis.”
“Stop saying that. I didn’t,” Eleanor said, but with no force in her tone, already tired of being the centre of attention.
Iris gave her a disbelieving smirk. “Whatever you say, flower.”
Eleanor raised an unamused brow at Iris, a hint for her to step aside. After a beat, where Eleanor considered if she would have to physically move the woman or retreat to the kitchen, Iris moved.
Eleanor kept an eye on her as she stepped into her room, ready to shut the door on everyone.
“That’s not what the gossip says,” Iris said as she followed Eleanor into her room, keeping the door open.
It hadn’t escaped Eleanor’s notice that the rest of the house was suspiciously quiet.
“He’s never looked at a woman for longer than one evening.
To spend a day… alone with someone. That means something, flower . ”
Eleanor swallowed. It meant something, and she’d agreed to spending more time with him. “It wasn’t a whole day, and who says we were alone?” she finished with a playful smile on her lips.
The shuffling and general noises of The Ladies Grace resumed with Iris’s laugh. Eleanor sat on the lumpy bed, and she couldn’t help but look forward to the evening with the Marquis of Laerus.