Page 39

After a second, he held out his hand, as if to guide her up from her chair alongside him.

“As I said, he will endure consequences should he do anything untoward, but I do not believe he will. He is a good man, and I would not congratulate him, nor endorse the wedding, if I thought he was not ready for it. He has been alone and a Marquess for a long time. I am happy he has found your friend, and I hope you are, too.”

“Of course I am.”

“Then have faith in him. Have faith in his character, at least from what I have told you. I do not tolerate bad men as friends. Trust in that, at least.”

At that, Eloise slipped her hand into his, letting him pull her up to her feet. Her skirts swished around her ankles, and she lost her footing slightly.

She wished she could blame the wine, but she generally had a good tolerance for it, and she knew it was the unnerving intensity of his gaze.

He had barely looked at her in days, not properly, not since the village outing. But now he did, and it was not just the silent plea for her to trust him regarding their friends’ happiness.

No, it felt deeper, and Eloise thought of Gideon’s claim that she had changed him.

Dorian’s hand did not let go of hers. He pulled her closer, their chests almost touching, and Eloise was painfully aware of how her breasts pressed against her gown as she tried to catch her breath. For a fraction of a second, Dorian’s other hand nearly raised to her waist, but he dropped it before it could even move several inches.

“As Gideon said,” Dorian murmured, “perhaps we can drop the titles.”

“You were so against it earlier,” she answered softly.

“Yes, but hearing him speak so casually to you made me…” He stopped, looking away for a second.

His jaw clenched, and he didn’t finish his sentence, but he just shook his head slightly.

“Then I am fine with it,” Eloise whispered. “Dorian.”

At the sound of his name on her tongue, her husband’s head snapped back to her. His eyes lit up brightly and wildly, and Eloise didn’t dare question that light; she only smiled up at him.

“I never got a chance to properly thank you for my gifts,” she told him. “I have scarcely put down the travel book. I was thinking I could visit Mr. Brannon this week while showing Nancy the village, and perhaps get another one. Would that be all right?”

“You are free to do as you please. I thought I made that clear.”

Eloise looked up at him, properly looked up at him. The impressive height that had him towering over her, the width of his shoulders that made his frame so sturdy, the capable hands she could imagine picking up those gifts he had bought her, and so carefully handling them.

His beard was trimmed more neatly than it had been when she’d first met him, and now she could almost see the exact shape of his jawline. The gray eyes that had sought Eloise out for the first time in the chapel he’d saved her from now were not as flat as they usually were.

A unique, inviting darkness swirled in them, and it made Eloise dare to step closer.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Is it making you uncomfortable?” she retorted instead of answering.

Dorian swallowed. “Yes.”

“Then I shall⁠—”

“But do not stop looking. Because it means I can look at you as much as you are looking at me.” He stepped closer. “You are assessing me as though I am your travel book, Eloise.”

She shivered at the use of her name, at how he elongated the vowels, his voice deepening. “Am I a map to you, thinking you may sail across every part of me, if you just look long enough?”

Eloise’s breath caught as his face lowered toward hers. She didn’t know what to think; all she knew was that she couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth.

“Perhaps,” she breathed. “Perhaps, in my mind, I am sailing the ship model you bought me, and I am learning each new place, each new thing about you. Perhaps you ought to let me.”

She lifted her hands, almost wishing she could run them through his hair.

The air was charged, and she could almost taste it on her tongue.