Chapter Twenty-Six #3
She used the moonlight to guide her as she moved further into the library, taking care not to bump into any of the small tables being used to keep stacks of books on, left by their voracious reader.
Eleanor kept her sore hand enclosed, but trailed a lazy finger over some of the book covers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d stood in a room with so many books in one place.
The room had the enticing smell that only books could achieve.
A musty timber smell with fresh hints of vanilla told her that there were a few ancient tomes resting on the shelves.
Tomes, which she very dearly wanted to scout out and scour through.
That pang of longing halted her finger’s progress along an embellished book cover, taking her by surprise that she still had those kinds of thoughts or wants.
Eleanor closed her eyes, threw her head back, and she breathed.
Don’t do this, not now.
It’s not worth it.
It’s pointless.
You’ve done that before and look where it’s got you. Nowhere.
Shaking off those thoughts, Eleanor stepped further into the moonlight that was casting its light through the large windows over the library floor, showing her a beautifully thick patterned rug.
The thick pile tempted her to kick off her shoes and sink her toes in. But it would be an unnecessary risk.
Instead, as Eleanor stood alone in the middle of the library, she hugged her arms around herself.
She thought of other nights like this one, where she’d have been camping with a basket of fireside treats, freshly baked.
Under the clear night sky, she would have slept in her bedroll, accompanied by the moon and the stars lulling her to sleep.
There had also been the nights when the moon had been the only soul for her, shining its comforting glow upon her, much as it did now.
This was why Eleanor didn’t want to acknowledge the night sky anymore.
She had stopped admiring the ancestral stars, stopped searching for the constellations with their stories attached to them and wondered about those which were yet untold.
It always gave her a lingering hunger that she could never sate.
Instead, she only allowed herself to assess the night’s potential assistance or hindrance in the back streets.
It was…too much to have those memories accompanied by the ones that already plagued her.
Eleanor shook her head to tear herself physically and mentally from those old memories. Moonlight glinted off an object on the table. The droplet-shaped necklace drew her in.
It was the same one that Wilfred had from his lover—Linnet—she was sure of it. It had the same silver-weaved design holding the clear blue stone in place.
The part of her she kept down, deep, deep inside her, the part she only allowed out of the smallest crack to whisper over sections of her body, wanted to reach out. She wanted to recoil while simultaneously caress the pendant.
This should not be here.
Icy dread washed over her. She found what she had been searching for in the Marquis of Laerus’s house. She realised how foolish she had been to think it could be replicated. This close, she could almost see the Air movement in the pendant.
A low cough jerked her back to the present. She whirled around and knocked into one of the small tables. Eleanor grabbed the ledge of the table but missed the books, which slipped onto the thick rug with a dull thud.
The voice chuckled at her expense. Despite the darkness, Eleanor could feel her cheeks heat at her shortcoming.
“I’m sorry,” she did a quick bob, hoping that movement would suffice for whoever was in the room with her. “I thought I was alone.”
“Evidently,” replied the deep voice that was coming from the dark corner.
“I’ll leave,” she said as she bent to pick up the fallen books, taking care to avoid her raw palm.
“Not at all,” the man replied. His voice was crisp and elegant, which meant he was a noble or someone who was in constant contact with one. It was not an accent she’d find in the Barrow. “We both clearly desire a quiet place, and this library is big enough for the two of us.”
The voice seemed familiar to her. No. It was her mind playing tricks on her. She was grasping at something that wasn’t there.
She considered pocketing the pendant, but suspected this person likely sought this same item. They would know who she was, and it’d expose her.
“Thank you…I just wanted somewhere quiet and…I like books,” she trailed off, wincing as she realised what she’d said.
What a stupid thing to say . Idiot.
“It does get a bit tedious out there, doesn’t it?” There was something in man’s voice that wanted to pull at memories she couldn’t grasp, but like trying to grab onto running water, naturally the memory slipped through her fingers.
“I guess so. I mean, everyone seems to have a wonderful time,” Eleanor replied, hoping that she hadn’t offended him, but it was the truth. All the nobles seemed to have fun, even if their host was absent.
“And you weren’t?” the voice asked.
Her mind raced, trying to decipher who she thought it belonged to. It was a man’s voice who sounded amused at the situation.
“No… I mean. I was. It was lovely, the wine and everything, but I…I just wanted some time alone,” she finished lamely.
“Well, in that case—”
Mortification flushed through her as she realised how it sounded to the man.
If he was a noble, then he’d not appreciate a courtesan giving him an order.
“Oh no! I didn’t mean…you were here…whoever you are…
” Eleanor sighed at how out of practise she was with people. “Sorry, but you can see me…but…who—”
The heavy library door slammed open, cutting off her question.
Eleanor paid no heed to the slight pull at her palm and kept her fingers loose against her thigh as she whipped her head towards the open door.
She blinked furiously against the sudden intrusion of light seeping into the room and further illuminating her, casting the corner of the mysterious voice deeper in shadows.
“Oh, sorry,” a high-pitched voice said, in between giggling.
Eleanor took a breath and flexed her fingers. It was a couple from the party—who were holding each other up while stealing quick kisses—seeking a quiet room for themselves.
“Not at all,” Eleanor replied, using the intrusion as an opportunity to leave before she potentially said anything to get herself into trouble, and slipped past the tipsy couple.
Eleanor felt exposed in the bright hallway and knew it wouldn’t look good if someone caught her alone. The string quartet’s upbeat notes sounded close, and she was sure if she rounded the corner, she’d find the party. Eleanor moved in the opposite direction to the dulcet sound.
She just needed a minute of peace. That moment in the library had been too short and now she needed to try and make sense of what she’d overheard in the passageway, and what she’d seen in the library.
The string quartet became a soft, distant lilt as she made her way along the mostly empty hallway. No stewards guarded this area, but a few giggling, stumbling courtiers weaved through the residence, searching for rooms for a quick fumble.
Rather than trying the handle from any of the numerous doors, Eleanor walked until she found latticed-framed doors to the outside and tried the iron handle.
The door swung silently open and she welcomed the chill of the night on her skin as she stepped outside.
The partial moonlight showed a stone path and Eleanor walked away from the glinting lights and tittering courtiers, until she could hear a steady trickle of water from some unseen water feature.
No doubt it was of over-exaggerated design and cost. Strangely, she didn’t see any guards, posing as servants or not, but she didn’t doubt the possibility that there might be guards patrolling.
In the darkness, Eleanor couldn’t see the plants properly, but their scent reached her.
The light breeze blew a rich woody citrus across her skin, a scent that had teased her from the palace.
Of course, the ever-wealthy marquis had imported it from another land.
It didn’t surprise her that he had the audacity and the size of his ego to do so.
Eleanor had already given into reminiscing tonight so, as she skimmed her fingers over boxwood miniature hedges, she effortlessly fell into remembering other nights like this and the hungry promise that had accompanied them.
In this stillness under the moonlight, tears threatened, and she felt her fingers pulse over the foliage.
Taking a deep breath, Eleanor shirked from the sensation in her fingers, and pushed the feeling further away inside her, halting the emerging tears.
It was all too much, too raw. The insidious inner voice whispered that it didn’t matter how many years had gone by, she could never shake the bitter thoughts.
She wouldn’t be here, nor in this position.
None of this would have happened…if not for her.
It was all her fault.
With a sigh, her head fell against the weight she felt on her shoulders.
A scuffling noise of a boot against stone made her jump and turn. She softly cursed herself. For the second time tonight, she’d allowed herself to get distracted and lose herself in her surroundings.
Eleanor had missed the stone bench tucked into a hedge alcove, where a dark figure was sitting.
Instinctively, she placed her tender hand against her thigh to her concealed blade.
The dark figure stood in a fluid motion and strolled towards her, with a light tapping against the stone slabs.
The graceful figure stepped into a pocket of moonlight, revealing the marquis’s face.
Her breath caught in her throat. Eleanor was seeing the marquis in a different light tonight. Perhaps it was her memories being too close to the surface, or the night’s trickery. Regardless, he remained in the silver glow as he approached, and he looked like the Mother herself had made him.
His hair blended into the night sky, and his dark eyes reflected the stars, making them seem impossibly darker. His sharp cheekbones and straight nose drew the shadows in such a way that he looked noble and severe. Eleanor almost convinced herself that he was severe enough to be a warrior.
“You look wonderful in the moonlight, darling,” his intense voice drawled.
A soft breeze sent a few night-black long strands across his face.
Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach out, but she didn’t move her hand from its protective place on her thigh.
Never in all her long years roaming this world had she experienced such an immediate, visceral reaction to someone, yet the seeping feeling of dread made the cause of her reaction all the more alarming.
These feelings were not for her.
As if she needed to put some distance from him, she recalled Verena’s words. “I didn’t think that little whore would actually come.”
She was a bet…again.
She’d foolishly believed him when they’d had a moment in the carriage. She’d believed he had invited her because he liked her, and her company.
It was a lie.
She’d been made vacuous by this man. She wanted to leave and never again see him.
“How long have you been there, Your Lordship?” she demanded, with the small amount of bite she could muster in his presence.
“Longer than you think,” he replied, standing in front of her and tilting his head. “You don’t like me, do you?”
A muscle in her jaw tightened as she clenched it, her eyes narrowing. His drawl annoyed her, conveying his boredom in one breath. “I’m not here to like people. I’m here to fuck them if you haven’t forgotten.”
“I’ve not forgotten.”
Eleanor didn’t know if she was imagining it, but it felt like his voice had taken a hard edge to it, but that didn’t matter.
She was a bet. He’d lied to her, tricked her, and for all she knew, he could still deceive her.
Especially with him in possession of the necklace.
What made it worse was that she’d naively fallen for what he’d told her, all because he’d shown her some attention.
She took a breath and hardened herself. She didn’t need his attention. She’d been alone this long; she could stay alone. It was easier that way. Better for everyone. Safer.
She lifted her chin, concealing his effect on her, and mustered a hard voice that would tell him she knew . “I hope I’ve done enough for you to win your bet.”
Before he could respond, someone called to him from the path, and Eleanor used the disturbance as an opportunity to leave him alone in the gardens under the moonlight.
Eleanor stalked through the residence; she’d stayed long enough to not feel the back hand of Madam Grace.
Eleanor was done with this place, and these people.
She’d known to trust no one, but she’d become lax in guarding herself against him.
She’d let him get under her skin, and why? Because he looked pretty?
She’d be happy to never see him again.