“How much longer will you run?” The words escaped before she could stop them, edged with an emotion she refused to examine. “Doesn’t it feel like letting Croft win?”
Damien’s expression softened unexpectedly. “It doesn’t feel like running when my brother is himself again. When my heart is full of gratitude that he’s well.”
Eleanor felt something cold settle in her stomach. Of course. He would leave the moment Dominic was safe, disappearing back into exile and leaving her to face whatever remained ofCroft’s schemes alone. The partnership she’d foolishly begun to imagine was nothing more than temporary necessity.
She turned toward the window, using the pretense of checking the weather to hide her expression. The cottage that had felt like a sanctuary now seemed like a place of false promises.
“Of course,” she said quietly. “Your brother must come first.”
Behind her, she heard Damien shift in his chair. “Eleanor…”
“The rain’s stopping,” she observed with forced lightness. “We should return before the servants worry.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and uncertain futures. Eleanor remained at the window, afraid to turn around, afraid of what her face might reveal. She’d learned his secrets, understood his motivations, even felt her heart soften toward his cause.
But she’d also learned that whatever connection existed between them would always be secondary to his devotion to Dominic. And that knowledge settled around her heart like armor, protecting her from hoping for more than he could give.
The Peacock
Damien sat atthe head of the breakfast table in all his sartorial glory, savoring both his morning coffee and the anticipation of Eleanor’s reaction. The vibrant pink shirt—now a permanent fixture in his wardrobe—was paired with the peacock-embroidered waistcoat and those magnificently ghastly yellow breeches that transformed him into an exotic bird who’d lost a fight with a rainbow. He’d arranged himself with perfect equanimity, as though his appearance were entirely ordinary.
When Eleanor appeared in the doorway, her reticule slipping from suddenly nerveless fingers, Damien felt a surge of satisfaction at her obvious shock.
“Good morning, my dear duchess,” he greeted cheerfully, gesturing to the chair beside him. “I trust you slept well? I’ve taken the liberty of having Cook prepare your favorite jam tarts.”
He watched with amusement as Eleanor approached the table with the wariness of someone entering a battlefield. “You’re wearing that… ensemble.”
“Indeed I am.” Damien’s smile was brilliant as he delivered his explanation. “I’ve decided to embrace the aesthetic until you beg me to stop.”
“Beg?” The slight rise in Eleanor’s voice as she took her seat was music to his ears.
“The laundress was remarkably thorough in her work,” Damien replied with obvious admiration, enjoying every moment of her growing consternation. “Such dedication to her craft deserves proper recognition. Besides, I find the color rather liberating. There’s something to be said for abandoning all pretense of dignity.”
“You abandoned that the moment you appeared in my drawing room drinking my brandy,” Eleanor retorted, though Damien caught the smile she couldn’t quite suppress.
“Ah, but now I’ve elevated that abandonment to an art form.” He gestured grandly at his outfit, reveling in the theatrical moment. “Behold—a duke so thoroughly comfortable with himself that fashion becomes irrelevant.”
“Fashion was never relevant to that particular combination,” Eleanor observed dryly. “It defies several natural laws.”
“Only several? How disappointing. I was aiming for a complete overthrow of established order.” Damien was thoroughly enjoying their banter when Simmons appeared in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral despite the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Your Grace,” the butler addressed Eleanor, “Mr. Thoreux has arrived for your appointment.”
Damien seized the opportunity with predatory swiftness. “Excellent,” he said before Eleanor could respond, rising with theatrical flourish. “I do so enjoy meeting my wife’s business associates.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Your Grace, Mr. Thoreux is here to see me—”
“And now he shall see me instead,” Damien interrupted with insufferable smugness. “I’m discovering the most fascinating things about your charitable endeavors, my sweet. Such creativefinancing arrangements.” His smile turned wicked. “Do wish me luck in my educational endeavors.”
“Damien,” Eleanor began, half rising with obvious alarm.
“I promise to be on my very best behavior,” he said with exaggerated solemnity. “After all, one mustn’t alarm the help with too many questions about irregular accounting practices.”
Before she could voice her objections, Damien swept from the room.
Damien adjusted hisridiculous pink shirt as he entered the library with deliberate confidence. The man waiting inside visibly startled at his appearance, nearly dropping the ledger he’d been examining.
“Mr. Thoreux, I presume?” Damien closed the door behind him with a decisive click.