David arrived at his parents' townhouse late that evening, his limbs aching from being cramped in his carriage. His desperation to get to London before his mother was buried had seen him journeying for four days straight, only stopping once at an inn to change the horses before continuing on his way. He was exhausted by the time he climbed down from the carriage, but when his gaze rested on the black wreath that hung on the front door, it felt like someone had taken him by the throat and he was unable to stand on his own two feet.
Gripping the railing, he staggered up the front stairs into the house. Nothing had changed; the elaborate furnitures were the same from before his father's passing, the floors were polished as had often been demanded by the duchess, and the air smelled of fresh flowers. Still, it felt like everything had changed; the loud silence of grief assailed the halls, the hearths were lit, but there was a coldness in the air, and as David walked into the empty parlor that had once belonged to the duchess, he was struck anew by the void her death created.
"Where is my brother?" he asked, his gaze fixed on his mother's favorite couch. He had had many banters with his mother over its ridiculous floral design, but as he stared at it now, all it did was make him want to sink to his knees in tears.
"His Grace has been away all day, my lord."
David didn't doubt Jon was meeting with his parents' lawyers and solicitors. Now that both his parents were dead, Jon was in charge of figuring out just how much their family was worth.
"And my mother? I wish to see her remains." David turned to the butler, unsurprised to find his gray brows furrowed and his shoulders drooped. Anthony, the butler, had been in service of David's family since he was a lad—so had his father and grandfather. The duchess had been fond of him and had gone the extra mile to ensure he was educated.
"I'm afraid... That is impossible, my lord. Her Grace was buried a week ago."
Wincing, he turned from Anthony, for he feared if he didn't, he would give in to his grief before him. He stumbled out of the building, the cool evening air washing over him as he tore his lips apart and fought to force air through his constricted lungs. He wandered into the garden, and struggling to regain control of his emotions, settled on a bench. There was no point in crying, was there? His mother was dead—buried even, and while he loathed himself for being absent when she died, he knew there was no amount of self hate that could bring her back.
Releasing a shaky breath, he shook his head. Perhaps his being absent was for the best, for he was certain he would not have been able to bear the wrenching pain of watching yet another woman he loved die.
Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his thoughts.
"I do not wish to be disturbed," he said, his gaze fixed on a bush of hollyhocks. He imagined the servant was here to tell him Jon had returned from his meeting with the solicitors, or perhaps he was being summoned to supper. David was uncertain what the message was, but was uninterested either way. He could neither face his brother in the state he was in, nor could he force food down his throat.
Silence followed his words, but not with the corresponding sound of retreating footsteps. Indeed, he felt the presence of the intruder looming over him, their gaze fixed on his back. Annoyed, he turned around to dismiss them, but the words died on his lips the second his eyes rested on her.
Eloise!
Clad in a light gray dress that appeared nearly white under the moonlight, Eloise stole the air from his lungs. He stared at her, shocked, yet thrilled by her presence. He could barely believe she was truly standing before him, for the morning he had stood on that front stairs in Oakham memorizing her face, he had been certain he would never see her again. Yet, here she stood before him, blue eyes sparkling like the finest sapphires etched into the loveliest face he had ever seen. Her brown hair draped her shoulder, leaving him with a barely deniable desire to bury his fingers in it.
He missed her; he realized as he stood watching her. He had been beyond stupid to have thought he could memorize the loveliness of her face, even more so the sweetness of her lips.
I want to kiss you, he thought, his gaze drifting to her lips. It wasn't until he watched her cheeks turn crimson that he realized his tongue had betrayed his heart.
Silence followed his words, but Eloise did not tear her eyes off of him. She instead stood, holding his gaze as the redness spread from her cheeks to her ears.
Fearing he might have frightened her with his words, David opened his mouth to apologize, but her next words stopped him;
"I... want to kiss you too, my lord," she whispered.
*
Eloise had taken leave of her senses, for that was the only logical explanation for her decision to follow David out to the garden in the middle of the night. She was mad to have defied his command to leave him be, and when he spoke of his desire to kiss her, she was mad to have admitted to the same desire.
Her heart pounding wildly in her throat, she watched him close the gap between them. She closed her eyes as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. The briefness of his kiss surprised her, but she was even more surprised by her boldness, for as he made to turn from her, she grabbed his forearm, forcing him back around. Standing on tiptoes, she cupped his face and kissed him.
His arms circled her waist then, evoking a soft sigh from her as he drew her further into his embrace until their bodies were merged in the most intimate way. Her body warmed at the feel of his masculine form pressed to hers, and as his lips trailed her jaw, they felt like tiny burns that set her skin on fire.
Gripping his waist to steady herself as his fingers caressed her scalp, she threw her head back, a soft moan forming in her throat as his lips crept down her jaw to her neck. He kissed her pounding pulse for several seconds before reclaiming her lips.
Tearing her lips apart to welcome the warmth of his mouth, she responded hungrily to his kiss.
"Mrs Taylor," he murmured, his warm breath caressing her face as he pulled away slightly.
She opened her eyes, her heart skipping a beat at the heated look in his eyes. "Yes, my lord."
"You're not really here, are you?" His fingers slid down her cheek. "I was certain we would never see each other again."
"I'm here." She pressed her forehead to his, and he kissed her nose, causing her to tremble slightly. "You are not upset by my presence, are you? I shall leave—" The words died on her lips as he tightened his hold around her waist and drew her further into his embrace.
"I do not wish for your departure; I'm only surprised by your presence. It feels unreal. You feel unreal. But our kiss, it is quite real, is it not?"
It felt real, she thought, her cheeks catching fire. Her stomach still quaked from the impact. "Indeed, it is real."
He kissed her again, as if to confirm for himself. "It feels real."
Giggling softly, she nodded.
"Come," he said, taking her hand. "Sit with me." She followed him to the bench, and once she had settled on it, he sat beside her. "Tell me why you are here and not in your new home. Was not the house to your liking? I gave Mr. Miles unlimited access to my accounts."
Shaking her head, she took his hand and kissed it. She was touched by his kindness, but wished he knew she desired to be here with him instead.
"His Grace wanted me to look after Adam in your absence. He said Her Grace's death would be hard on him, and he was right."
A small frown touched his brow. "How is Adam?"
"Sick with grief, my lord."
His frown grew as he nodded. "Adam grew up here with his grandparents. Death is beyond devastating, but I imagine my mother's passing has had a worse effect on him."
"Perhaps you must speak with him."
He heaved a loud sigh, shaking his head. "He will have nothing to do with me, and I shall not blame him for it."
"I beg to differ. He needs you."
David turned from her then and shifted his gaze to the fountain. Silence filled the air for several minutes, his warmth sipping into her fingers and traveling up her arm until it invaded every fiber of her being. Being with him felt surreal, and silently, she prayed the night would never end. She hoped to sit with him like this every night, drinking to her fill of his soothing presence. There was also the thought of lying with him; of placing her head on his chest and falling asleep to the sound of his drumming heart.
"You should return to your chamber now," he finally said, surprising her as he released her hand.
She was instantly overtaken by a wave of disappointment at the thought of his dismissal. Rising to her feet slowly, she forced a small smile to her lips.
"Good evening, my lord." She made to turn from him, but something grabbed her hand suddenly and spun her around until she was bumping into a hard surface and the air was knocked out of her lungs as he captured her lips.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the world around her and savoring the feel of him. His skin was untainted by his cologne; he smelled of dust and sweat, and by god, she reveled in it. She savored the feel of his powerful arms around her waist, holding her firmly in place before him. She savored the slow movements of his lips as they kissed and tugged and nibbled hers. She savored the feel of his heart drumming against her fingers.
Time lost its essence for the period of their kiss. Then it ended, and he pulled away.
"Good night," he whispered.
Eloise was certain her wobbly legs would fail in their task of getting her to her bedchamber. So she stood staring at him, breathless as she lost herself in the storm of his eyes, until he turned sharply from her and walked away.