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)
‘Ape?’ He laughs, and the sound is nothing short of breath-taking. Deep, rumbling, tingle-inducing. ‘I have been called many derogatory names in my time, Eliza, by many a man, but never an ape by a lady.’
Men? Just men? ‘First time for everything,’ I mutter, completely at the mercy of his power, and yet I defiantly resist, digging my heels in, for what use it is. What do ladies usually call him then?
‘There is,’ he says quietly. ‘Am I going to have to throw you over my shoulder?’
I gasp. ‘You would never.’
Another laugh, and then in a collection of fast, expert moves, I’m suddenly whisked off my feet and draped over his shoulder. ‘My God,’ I yelp, bouncing up and down in time to his strides. He really is an ape!
‘Are you referring to Him or to me?’
My jaw goes lax, my body tense from top to toe, vehemently fighting off those blasted tingles. ‘You are something else.’
‘But you like me, yes?’
‘No, I absolutely do not.’
He laughs again. ‘You, Eliza Melrose, are quite a delight.’
‘I wish I could say the same for you,’ I mutter. ‘Will you put me down!’
‘It may have escaped your notice, but I am without a jacket, and it is bloody freezing. Forgive me, but I cannot hang around all night waiting for you to decide whether or not you can cope with the monstrous challenge of being in my company again. I have a roaring fire desperate for some companionship if you don’t mind.’
‘I do mind.’
‘You are exasperating.’
‘But you like me, yes?’ I say, with far too much cockiness for a woman in my physical position, an unstoppable grin finding me. It’s quick to disappear when his hand squeezes my thigh over my dress, though.
And the tingles transform into explosions.
‘For my sins, sweet Eliza, yes, I do happen to be rather taken.’
‘How unfortunate for you,’ I say on a swallow, staring at the swell of his rather pleasingly formed derrière. I did not anticipate such frankness, I must admit, and I wonder what I am to do with it.
‘For both of us,’ he says, so quietly I expect he did not wish to be heard, and yet, I did hear him. And more than that, I heard the regret.
I am not blessed with more conversation, which I find a shame, for it was somewhat riveting. Neither am I blessed with the choice to walk for myself, which I find not to be so much of a shame. I feel weightless upon the Duke’s shoulder. It is a pleasing feeling of uninhibitedness that I have come to forget in recent weeks, since Papa has moved us from the unassuming yet pleasant estate where I have lived since I was a babe in arms.
Naturally I am somewhat wary as I am carried through the gardens across Belmore Square, as I expect any one of the residents could peer out of a window and spy us, but, I remind myself, and it is undeniably a bloody good job, most of the residents are in attendance at Mr Fitzgerald’s party, therefore otherwise engaged with matters of socialising.
‘You were not invited to Mr Fitzgerald’s?’ I ask casually, fishing for more information.
‘I was not.’ The Duke stops rather abruptly on a quiet curse, and I conclude that he too, and it is a mild comfort, is concerned about the potential of being spotted.
‘What is it?’ I ask, trying to crane my head to see.
‘Hush now,’ he orders harshly, moving, and we are suddenly surrounded by green.
‘We’re in the bushes!’ I exclaim, wriggling upon his shoulder. It is terrible enough to be with him, least of all on him, and now we are unashamedly hiding in the bushes? For the love of everything, this is a disaster! I wish to assert that there would be nothing odd about taking an evening stroll with a companion, but, regretfully, I cannot. The Duke, quite clearly, is not Frederick. Whether walking with the Duke in a respectable fashion and with a chaperone, or being carted unceremoniously by him unchaperoned, just the mere fact I am in his company would be something of a scandal.
‘You are very challenging, Eliza.’
‘As are you. Now put me down or, I swear, I will scream and have half of London descending to discover you manhandling––’ my mouth snaps shut.
‘Yes,’ the Duke says as Lady Dare floats by. She is dressed to kill in an exasperatingly striking purple gown that should but doesn’t defy her skin tone. I feel sick to my stomach, and I fear how fabulous she looks in that fancy frock is not the cause for my overwhelming feeling of nausea. My mind’s eye cruelly takes me back to the evening when I had the misfortune of seeing her calling upon the Duke. I am not comforted by the fact that he did not answer her call, for I have heard the rumours about the man whom I am currently draped over.