Eleanor And The Duke by Margo Maguire

Author:Margo Maguire
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Margo Maguire
Published: 2015-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Eleanor made a dash for the front door of the manor, hoping to run all the way up to her bedchamber for a few minutes alone to compose herself. Dear lord, she must be mad! This business with Beckworth was all wrong.

The front door opened for her, and Eleanor ran inside, only to encounter an unexpected guest, a young man she had not seen in at least five years. He seemed to have been looking out the window, noting her arrival with Beckworth.

“Silas!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”

Silas Winter, who was now Viscount Maryfield, looked at her with a broad grin. “I’ve been known to stop here from time to time, Eleanor, when rain waylays me on my way home.”

She glanced out the open door and caught sight of Beckworth in shirtsleeves, walking his horse around the drive to the stable. Dear God, she was still wearing his jacket. She swallowed and turned back to Silas. He was just as handsome as ever, reminding her of her adolescent infatuation with him. And yet there was something unattractive about him as she looked at him now, an air of cockiness and even dissolution.

Eleanor gave a quick shake of her head. She was in a sorry state after that heated exchange in the old ruin, and now this. Silas Winter. The young man she had dreamed of kissing when she was fifteen years old and he was eighteen.

“Father always said you would grow up to be a beauty, Eleanor,” he said. “’Tis a shame about your dowry.”

Everyone knew the sad state of her dowry, but no one had tossed it in her face. Until now. “I-I . . . H-have you taken any refreshments? Has Mrs. Thornberry offered you any . . . um, t-tea?”

“Of course, but I had not planned on staying – that is, not until now.” He gave her a wink that sent the oddest quiver down her back. Perhaps not the pleasantest of sensations. Ten years ago, she’d have melted in a puddle of delight at his attention.

Today? Well, she’d done enough melting for one day.

“Will you come in?”

“Will Beckworth have my head if I do?”

“Beckworth has nothing to say about whom I invite into my house,” she retorted. “Besides, why would he object to you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said as they walked into the drawing room, “perhaps because you entertained a decidedly avid passion for me in years past.”

Eleanor felt her face burn with embarrassment and was glad he walked behind her. She would have died back then if she’d known he was aware of her infatuation.

“I believe you do flatter yourself, Silas – or I ought to call you Maryfield now.”

“Silas will do, my dear,” he said, though his invitation to use his given name, and the fawning endearment that followed, put her off.

“Mmm.” Eleanor shuddered a little bit, wondering what she’d seen in him beyond his pretty face and fancy manners. Had he always been so smug? Yes, he was as wealthy and good-looking as ever.

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