Eleanor felt heat rise in her cheeks at his cutting tone. “I’m not criticizing your compassion. I’m questioning your judgment.”
“My judgment.” He repeated the words slowly, as though tasting something bitter. “And what gives you the authority to question my decisions? What exactly do you think gives you the right to approve or disapprove of my choices?”
His challenging tone, as though she were a servant overstepping her bounds, made Eleanor flinch. When she spoke, her voice had cooled considerably. “The fact that your financial decisions affect my security as well as your own.”
“Ah.” Damien moved to the seat beside her, his proximity immediately charging the air between them. “Now we come to the heart of it, don’t we? The question of what role you truly play in this arrangement.”
“I am your wife, and you’re taking advantage of my generosity,” she said, her voice tight with hurt. “You entered this marriage for my wealth, and now you’re spending it as though it were your birthright—exactly the situation I’d fought to avoid. Those people may deserve help, but it’s my fortune funding your largesse, not yours.”
Damien’s face went pale, then flushed with something between hurt and anger. “Taking advantage?” he repeated, his voice rough with disbelief. “You claim to be my wife, and yet you think so poorly of me.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, but she could hear the fury in it. “Tell me, Eleanor, exactly which wife are you referring to? The woman who shares my name for legal convenience? Or the woman I held in my arms last night, who trusted me enough to sleep peacefully in my embrace?”
Heat flooded Eleanor’s cheeks. “That was necessity, nothing more.”
“Was it?” He leaned back as if she’d struck him, running both hands through his hair. When he looked at her again, his eyes held a pain that made her chest tighten. “Christ, Eleanor. All this time, I thought we were building something real—if not love, then at least trust. But you still see me as nothing more than a transaction.” He shook his head seemingly in disbelief. “While you’ve been protecting yourself from a fortune hunter, I’ve been falling in love with my wife.”
Eleanor’s breath stopped entirely.
“I’ve been hungry for only one woman since the moment I walked into your drawing room and found you glaring at me like an avenging angel.” His gaze peered into hers once more, blazing with passion. “You, Eleanor. Every night I’ve been searching for my brother, every morning I’ve woken thinking of you. Not your money—you.”
The confession hung between them, raw and desperate. Eleanor stared at him, her carefully constructed defenses crumbling.
“That’s…” she began, then stopped, her voice failing her.
Damien smiled bitterly. “I don’t expect you to believe me. Why would you? But it’s the truth, whether it suits you or not.”
Eleanor felt as though the world had tilted beneath her feet. Everything she’d assumed about their relationship had just been shattered by his words:I’ve been falling in love with my wife.
A Surprise Captive
Eleanor sat inher study the morning after their return from Ashford, staring at the untouched correspondence before her while her mind churned with conflicting emotions. The journey back to London had passed in tense silence following Damien’s raw confession in the carriage, both of them seemingly overwhelmed by the weight of what had been revealed.
I’ve been hungry for only one woman. You.
The words had echoed in her mind throughout the sleepless night, sending unwelcome flutters through her chest that she ruthlessly tried to suppress. She couldn’t afford such weakness—not when everything she thought she understood about their arrangement had been turned upside down since his arrival in England.
His confession of desire and love—spoken with such raw honesty it had stolen her breath—complicated everything in ways she wasn’t prepared to handle.
She forced herself to focus on the neat stack of letters Simmons had delivered with the morning tea, each bearing the seal of one of her various correspondents throughout London. Information was her greatest weapon, and she would need everyadvantage in the battle ahead, regardless of how her feelings toward Damien might be shifting.
The first letter bore an unfamiliar seal—rough wax pressed with a simple signet. Eleanor broke it open, scanning the contents with growing alarm.
Your Grace,
As requested, I have maintained surveillance of the Richmond property. Notable visitors include several gentlemen of questionable reputation, but one guest of particular interest: Lady Laura arrived yesterday afternoon via private carriage. She has not been observed departing the premises.
I await further instructions.
Your faithful servant
Eleanor’s blood chilled. Lady Laura was apparently now in Croft’s custody—or protection. Either possibility was deeply troubling. Had the woman gone willingly, or had she become another pawn in Croft’s elaborate scheme?
The second letter made her stomach clench with dread. Lord Croft’s elegant script sprawled across expensive paper, the very sight of it making her skin crawl.
Your Grace,
I would be honored by your presence at an intimate dinner party this Friday evening. Nothing elaborate—merely a gathering of like-minded individuals who appreciate fine conversation and finer wine. I do hope you and the duke will attend. After our delightful dance at Lady Harrington’s ball, I find myself most curious to further our acquaintance.
I remain your devoted servant, Croft