To Trust a Rogue (The Heart of a Duke #8)(74)

A slow understanding lit her clever gaze. She slid her eyes away from his. Uncaring of the sea of polite Society about them, with his hand he gently guided her focus back to him. “Marcus,” she said, on a forlorn whisper. “What happened to me, it cannot be undone. It cannot be fixed.”

Her words implied she was flawed and broken, and yet in her imperfection, there was not a more perfect person. How had he lived these years without her? How empty and purposeless his life had been. “Oh, Eleanor.” What if she’d allowed him in and shared this burden? He ran a gaze over her person. How could she still not know their happiness was inextricably connected? “If I could undo that moment for you…” Marcus pressed his eyes closed a moment. But then there would be no Marcia. “But I cannot. You are not broken or something in need of repair. You are a woman of courage and strength who was wronged, and that does not make you undeserving of happiness and love.” He paused, willing her with his eyes to see the truth. “It makes you more deserving. And I would be the man to show you both.”

Eleanor looked down at her clasped hands. “Marcus, I—”

“We have both lost years of joy, Eleanor. Do not let him take another moment. At least let the remaining items on your list belong to us.” He brought her hand to his mouth and dropped a kiss atop her knuckles. Not even a fortnight ago, he’d have been horrified at the possibility of the ton seeing him and making something honorable of his intentions. Now, if Eleanor would have him, he’d invite every gawking passerby as a witness at their wedding. “Whatever you want Eleanor. Whatever you desire, tell me and I shall bring it to you.” And if it was the stars she craved, he’d climb to the heavens and grab down the moon.

She raised her eyes to his and a slow smile spread on her lips. And the same fluttering in his chest, the one from years earlier when she’d stepped out of her aunt’s townhouse and into his life, danced madly now. Yes, flavored ices and curricle rides through London were safe. There were no risks, no resurrected pains of the past. “A chocolate ice, Marcus. I would have a chocolate ice.”

It was not the moon, but it was a fleeting pleasure he could give. With a smile, Marcus leapt down from the carriage. He paused. “Oh, Eleanor?”

“Yes?”

“I would have married you eight years ago. Not even an evil fairy would have stopped me.” Her lips fell agape and she touched a hand to her chest. “And I intend to wed you now.”

Her breath caught on a gasp as Marcus winked and rushed off to fetch her ice.





Chapter 18


Eleanor had but one item left on her list. This final item she would see to without Marcus at her side. And after this evening’s performance, Eleanor would have fulfilled all the tasks presented her by her late uncle. She should be elated. This moment meant security for her and Marcia. Never again would she have to live in fear over their precarious situation. She could pack up, board a carriage tomorrow, and take Marcia far, far away from this place.

Yet, there was no elation. There was no thrill of triumph and only mild relief. Rather, there was an odd, aching emptiness. How long had she spent hating London? Yet, to leave this time would mean to leave Marcus’ smile and promises of happiness. It would mean no more of the gruff, wry Aunt Dorothea’s love and guidance. Even the garden, that special place shared with Marcus, would be lost to her forever.

Eleanor skimmed her gaze over the noisy hall of The English Opera House. Odd, how such a cavernous space, brimming with theatregoers, should feel so empty. The candlelight and Argand lamps illuminated the massive auditorium and sent shadows dancing on the walls. Unbidden, she sought him out. Oh, there would be nothing proper in her attending the opera on Marcus’ arm. It was a luxury she would have been permitted had she been one of those shockingly scandalous widows, and yet she was not one of those. Instead, she ached with a need to be not special, not different, but rather…ordinary.

“You look about as excited to be here as that indulgent queen being marched up to the gallows.”

At her aunt’s quiet interruption, Eleanor jumped. She flushed guiltily. “I…”

But the lie would not come. None of this appealed to her; not the balls or lavish halls. Not the operas or the musicales. She hungered for the simplicity of the Cornwall country where she existed as simply Eleanor Collins; young widow and contented mother…and very soon, she would have the funds to do exactly that.

“…And because I am a selfish bastard, I want you to want to be here because you wish to be with me…”

Marcus’ husky baritone echoed around her mind. For the truth of it was, she wished to be here because of him. She wanted to be wherever Marcus Gray was. From the corner of her eye, a flash of white caught her notice and she stared unabashedly at the bright-eyed debutante in frilly white skirts and perfectly curled tresses. Longing pulled at her; a desire to be that carefree young lady with hope in her eyes and a smile on her lips and a belief in the goodness of all around her. Virginal. Innocent.

In short, everything Eleanor no longer was.

Her aunt tapped the arm of Eleanor’s shell-backed seat with her cane. “He’s arrived.”

Eleanor didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. She searched for him in the crowd.

“His box is to the right, center.”

And then her heart dipped.