Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
‘Miss Melrose,’ the Countess croons, not having to say another word. Just the tone in which she spoke my name screamed disapproval. So she’s heard of my escapades too, has she?
‘Countess,’ I purr, half curtseying, making a sharp escape before I’m subjected to her sharp tongue, my target – my brother – in my sights. Unfortunately, he spots me before I can corner him and interrogate him and makes a hasty getaway, swiping up a drink and disappearing into a crowd of gentlemen. ‘Bugger it,’ I mutter.
‘Bugger what?’
I groan under my breath, slap on a smile, and face Lady Dare. ‘How lovely to see you,’ I say through my teeth. ‘Wish I could stop and chit-chat.’ I am making a hasty getaway to rival Frank’s. I’ve done nothing but run away since I arrived, to avoid people. In fact, there is not a single person here whom I wish to converse with, only my brother, and since he is apparently avoiding me – the guilty git – I am questioning why on earth I am enduring this. I am certain I am no longer the prospective bride of the Earl of Cornwall after shaming him so thoroughly, so I may as well depart and do everyone a favour, as it seems I am not well versed in socialising. In fact, I am not well versed at much around here.
I drink my Champagne and go to the window, sighing as I look out onto the square. I cannot leave. I could never explain. Perhaps I could feign illness. After all, I didn’t eat at lunch, nor at teatime, as I was bathing and, frankly, avoiding my father.
‘Eliza?’
I still and tense at the sound of Papa’s voice, and with a window before me, I have nowhere to run to. I find a smile and face him, bracing myself for a thorough dressing-down. ‘Yes, Papa?’
He regards me quietly for a few moments, making me shift uncomfortably, and I finally get tired of the awful silence and his quiet scrutiny. ‘Papa, I am sorry, I did not mean to embarrass you, but––’
‘You understand, Eliza, my darling girl, that some of the freedoms that were bestowed upon you prior to our move to London cannot exist here.’
I recoil, surprised. ‘Which freedom do you speak of, Papa, for I had many.’
He smiles, and it is soft. ‘I am no longer only answerable to myself, Eliza. I have a business partner now.’
He’s talking about my stories. He knows. ‘I realise that, Papa.’
A mild nod, a thoughtful pout, and he reaches for my cheek and strokes it. ‘My beautiful, headstrong baby girl.’ I try to smile and fail, and he retracts his hand. ‘I must find your mother.’ He backs away, leaving me feeling bereft, and I turn back to the window, but before I can let my tears of frustration fall, I spy something by the corner entrance of the gardens. Or someone. I gulp, and the tingles, God love those tingles, are back with a vengeance, my grievance forgotten.
He steps forward, bringing himself into the moonlight, his hands held behind his back, his eyes, which I can see with delightful clarity, smoky. Wicked. Dangerous.
Unfathomably irresistible.
I look behind me to the party guests. I could spend a week with these people, non-stop, and still not experience even a whisper of the exhilaration that I felt in just a second of the Duke’s company. I am definitely, without question, going mad. I finish my drink, perhaps for a little added courage, and slip away, praying my absence will not be noticed anytime soon. If it is, I will lie and inform my interrogators that I came over all hot and faint and, to avoid embarrassing anyone should I be unfortunate enough to swoon, was forced to step outside and get some air. I nod my agreement to myself, ignoring the possibility that no one will believe me, since what the hell do I care if I embarrass anyone, and make my escape.
I close the door, lift my dress, and take the steps down to the street. I shiver, the night-time air brisk and stinging, biting my skin, and I realise, in my urgency, I have completely forgotten my coat. ‘Bloody hell,’ I say, my teeth chattering, my skin becoming chicken-like, every hair standing on end. I am certain if it were not for the red staining them – the only make-up I will wear – my lips would be a rather unfetching shade of blue, but the second I look up and my eyes meet his burning stare, my frozen body is forgotten, and in the place of chills come sparks. Sparks that warm me to my bones.
The Duke shakes his head, scowling unhappily. ‘Eliza, you will catch your death,’ he says, striding towards me, removing his grey velvet jacket as he does. ‘What are you thinking?’