James’ lips twitched. “Yes, so you say, my lady. So you say.”
He found her. His mother did have Elaine in her grasp as he’d expected, but Elaine seemed to be enjoying a conversation with Lord Harrow. He relaxed a little. He liked Lord Harrow.
“Do you see?” Clarissa chimed in, her voice soft. “She is quite fine. She seems to be enjoying herself.”
He sighed, the tension seeping out of him. “I suppose you’re right.”
“You care for her deeply,” she remarked. She touched him gently on the arm, sending bolts of fire through his body. “I understand what it feels like to worry about someone all the time. I suppose it is not fair of me to chastise you for doing what I have not learned how to cease myself.”
“It is not just about protection,” he said. “It is also about making sure she knows she’s not alone.”
“I’m sure she knows.”
James nodded. He stared at Elaine a moment longer, committing Lady Clarissa’s words to heart. Then he turned back to the painting.
For a moment, he was quiet, staring at the swirling colours before he said, “This is still a complete mystery to me.”
Lady Clarissa’s laughter diffused the last bit of tension he held in his body as she faced the painting again. “I would be more than happy to go through its interpretations, if you are interested.”
He simply wanted to hear her talk. It could be about anything, as long as she kept going. “Please do,” he urged. He was outright captivated.
Lady Clarissa did just that, going on about the emotions drawn from the brushstrokes of the painting. James still didn’t understand but he didn’t need to. He only needed to hear her, to see her, and his night was made.
Chapter Thirteen
The weight of the evening's festivities bore down on Elaine as she slipped away from the lively drawing room, the chatter and laughter fading behind her. The musicale had been a whirlwind of conversations and polite smiles, and while she appreciated her aunt’s persistence in ensuring she was never without company, she found herself utterly exhausted. Seeking solace, she quietly entered the neighbouring parlour, a space that she knew would at least afford her a brief respite from the constant need to socialise.
The parlour was dimly lit, a cosy retreat adorned with plush chairs and rich, dark wood. A large bookshelf lined one wall, its shelves overflowing with well-worn volumes. The faint scent of aged books wafted through the air. Elaine always cherished fond memories of this room, a place where she would often find refuge during her childhood. When her parents were preoccupied conversing over tea and Simon seemed far more interested in finding bugs outdoors, Elaine could come here, pick up the first book she could find, and lose herself within it.
Elaine made her way to the bookshelf, her fingers grazing the spines of the books as she searched for something—anything—that could transport her away from the pressures of the evening. Away from the fact that she had not gotten the chance to speak with the duke again since they’d been interrupted by Lord Gorvington and Lady Isabella. She watched him move across the room, watched him watch her, felt her heart race when their eyes met and her cheeks warm when he smiled at her. And yet, they could not find their way back to each other.
Elaine sighed, settling into a comfortable chair with a book of Shakespeare in her hand. She found the first story she could and settled in to read, hoping it would help to clear hermind.
And it did. In fact, she was so engrossed in the story that she didn’t notice someone had entered the room until the door clicked closed behind them. Elaine sucked in a breath when she saw that it was the Duke of Ryewood, his presence filling the room with a palpable tension.
“Lady Elaine,” he said, his voice rich and warm. “I must admit, I did not expect to find you here of all places.”
Elaine didn’t know whether to smile or crawl under the nearest table and hide. “Your Grace, what brings you here?”
“I needed to get away from everything,” he said, coming closer. “It is quite exhausting when others are always hoping to speak with you.”
With each step he took, warning bells rang louder in her head. They should not be alone like this and yet…
“I would not know, Your Grace,” she breathed. “I can hardly compare my popularity to yours.”
“I beg to differ, my lady. Do not think I have not noticed your many trips around the ballroom, speaking with a number of gentlemen.”
Elaine couldn’t place the tone of his voice. But his gaze was intent. He stopped just a few feet away from her, hands clasped behind his back.
“Courtesy of my aunt,” she assured him, though she wasn’t sure what she was assuring him of. Surely that didn’t bother him?
He tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her heart race. “Are you all right, my lady? I hope you do not feel faint?”
“No, Your Grace!” she denied hastily. “I simply needed a moment away from the... festivities. I thought perhaps I could lose myself in a story.”
He stepped closer, glancing around. “Reading? How interesting. Most would choose to remain amid the chaos.”
“I find solace in literature,” she confessed, closing the book momentarily. “It allows me to escape reality, if only for a little while.”
