To Trust a Rogue (The Heart of a Duke #8)(28)

“No.” Eleanor shook her head vigorously. “They are not. Nor would I say we are friends.”

The young lady was correct in that regard. But they had been, and at a time when he’d desperately needed a friend; at a time when grief had ravaged him and, in her, he’d found the ability to smile again and laugh. Goddamn you, Eleanor Elaine.

Drawing on years of practice as the unaffected rogue, he strode over. “Very well.” He stopped so only a hairsbreadth separated them. “Then liberties are surely permitted given the friendship between our families.”

She troubled her lower lip between her teeth, drawing his gaze inexorably to the slight, seductive movement. That slightly crooked front tooth, which had once mesmerized. He grimaced. God, what a hopeless romantic he’d been. Thanks to her defection, life had taught him there was but one purpose for a beautiful mouth such as hers.

Eleanor held his stare. “Why are you here?” she asked with a directness uncharacteristic of the ladies of the ton. As such, it was one he appreciated.

Marcus folded his arms. “Why am I here?” His mind stalled. Why was he here? Why, when the last place he should care to be was with the lady who’d wrenched his heart out and left an empty void in its wake? She was a woman who’d ruined him for that emotion, forevermore. And in the absence of any justifiable reason built on logic, he turned her question on her. “Why are you here, Eleanor?”

She continued to worry the fabric of her skirts. “This is my aunt’s garden. I enjoy—”

“Here, in London,” he said gruffly. Why, when she’d disappeared into the country and remained an elusive phantom these years, was she here now? Yes, there was the role of companion she’d come to take on…and yet, he’d wager all his solvent holdings that the duchess would turn over a fortune if her beloved niece so much as asked for it. He ran his eyes over the stoic planes of her face. Then, Eleanor had the grace and dignity to never beg for assistance. “Are you here to capture a new husband?”

He didn’t realize he held his breath until she snorted. “I’ve as much desire for another husband as I do a megrim at midnight.”

Even as the tension in his chest eased, an odd sensation yanked at his heart. Her handful of casually tossed words were more telling than anything else she uttered about the man she’d wed. Had she, too, been deceived by one who professed love and then ultimately brought nothing more than betrayal and heartache? Only, there was no glee at that possibility. Regardless of her betrayal, she’d once been a friend to him when he’d very much needed one.

As though she’d followed the path his thoughts had traveled, Eleanor glanced down at her slippered feet. He brushed his knuckles along her jaw, bringing her gaze back to his. Eleanor wetted her lips and, as she’d always done, filled the voids of silence. “Y-you may be rest assured of my intentions here. For your suspicions of me, I am not here to torment you.” How could the lady not know she’d haunted and tormented him for years now? First, in her absence and now, with her reemergence. “I’m merely here to serve as my aunt’s companion. We will move in entirely different social circles and there will be little need for us to see one another.”

Marcus stared hard at her. Did he imagine the regret tingeing that pledge? He thrust aside those foolish musings. “It is quarter past the midnight hour,” he murmured.

Crimson bathed her cheeks in a telling blush.

At the revealing silence, he winged an eyebrow up.

“I-is it?” she squeaked. “I-I did not realize the hour.”

Liar.

Marcus grazed the pad of his thumb over her lip and her full mouth trembled. A surge of desire gripped him; a need to draw her close and explore the taste of her.

Eleanor’s long, golden lashes fluttered wildly and she jerked her face away, dislodging his touch. “Remember yourself, my lord.” She retreated a step.

“How very proper you’ve become.” He infused a silken thread to his words. “I liked you bold and secretly scandalous.” As she’d been. The young woman who’d pulled herself up and peered over this same garden wall in search of him.

Crimson color splotched her cheeks and as he advanced, Eleanor layered her back against the doorway. “I was always proper, Marcus,” she said tightly.

Another wave of desire assaulted him. Her husky contralto, that seductive timbre had once haunted the better part of his waking and sleeping moments. Even after all these years, he wanted her still. He wanted to know her in the one way he’d not; in his bed, in his arms, with her reaching for him, pleading. He propped his hand on the door at her back, skillfully preventing her escape. “Where is the fun in proper?” he whispered. They were both mature adults. Why should they not renew their acquaintance in the way his body still longed to?

Eleanor snapped her eyebrows together. “I would expect a gentleman who is in the market for a wife would not be out here speaking such words aloud.”

His lips twitched. “And what words have I spoken, love? What words do you deem too scandalous too utter?” It did not escape his notice that this was now the second time she’d mentioned his marital state. “Do you know what I believe, Eleanor?” Not allowing her to reply, he lowered his head close to hers. “I believe, in your mind, you’ve conjured all imaginings of how it was between us and how it could be again.”