“But—” She hesitated, panic building low in her gut. “No, no, I cannot wait it out. I?—”
“Elinor.” Lucien stepped in front of her, grasping her wrists so she could release her death grip on the desk. “You have to wait out the storm. It could be dangerous to go out in it. Your carriage could be struck, or the roads might become slippery and could veer off. I won’t let you go out in it.”
“But my stepfamily,” she whispered, imagining her stepmother pushing open her chamber door, finding her bed empty.
“I will deal with them for you, if that happens,” he swore.
His thumb traced an idle circle over her wrist, and she did not think he knew he was doing it.
“Let me ensure your safety, Elinor.” His gaze held hers, earnest and intent, and the longer she looked, the more her worry quieted into something warmer and harder to name.
She nodded.
“All right,” she whispered. “But they will be angry if they find out.”
“They do not have to know about any of this,” he promised. “I will claim that I, a terribly rakish duke, convinced you to rendezvous with me in a secret walkway in a park.”
Elinor jerked back to him, her eyes wide. “No! No, you cannot.”
No, do not be foolish. Your heart is still your own and not straying in the direction of this handsome man.
She swallowed hard and composed herself. “We can think of something else. Perhaps there was a late errand you asked me to go on with you, or—or—something …”
“Elinor.” His voice was soft, coaxing her back away from her flustered panic. “Trust me to smooth over any issues that may arise.”
She nodded again, pulling away from his grasp.
She gave him a small, worried smile, before he turned on his heel to face the hackney driver.
“Take this for your trouble of waiting.” He pulled out a generous, heavy pouch of coins and offered it to the driver. “We hopefully will not keep you waiting very long.”
Right as he said that, another crack of lightning flashed through the windows.
Elinor’s worries drifted to the children, and she hoped they were all right through the storm.
They would be warm and safe, but as a child, she had feared storms.
Her thoughts ran, distracting her, to the point of her voice arising once the driver left.
“When I was younger,” she began, drawing the duke’s attention back to her, “my father told me that storms were a product of the sun and moon trying to reach one another. It was terribly romantic, and awfully illogical now that I know better, but it soothed me. I liked the thought of my fear being smaller thanwhat was truly happening, that if the sun and moon wished to be together so badly to cause such chaos, then their love must have been so great.”
“So, you liked romance stories in the past?” He smirked, lifting a brow.
“Idid,” she confessed. “Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
Elinor shook her head. She would not tell him about the years spent standing at the edges of ballrooms, waiting to be noticed by someone, anyone, while lacking the beauty or the boldness to claim attention for herself. Those years had cured her of romance more thoroughly than any book could.
“I’d rather not discuss that.”
“Oh. All right, then,” Lucien nodded, and his smirk lessened to an empathetic smile as he let her drop the subject.
He ducked out of the doorway for a moment, and she heard a low request for soup to be prepared. In return, Mrs. Neal agreed, and Elinor almost protested. Yet … here was a man taking care of her, of them, of arranging something for them to do while the storm raged outside.
Her eyes strayed to the window, where the night sky could no longer conceal the storm clouds that had rolled in. She flinched when more thunder groaned through the streets.
She took a step back, only to find herself against Lucien’s chest.