Chapter Thirty-Two: The evening of Formal Tea

The evening had arrived with a chill that promised the crispness of a London autumn. The grand drawing room of the Blackwood estate was filled with laughter and light, a mixture of elegance and formality as the elite of London gathered for the long-awaited formal tea. The room was awash with crystal chandeliers casting a soft glow on the guests, their laughter echoing off the velvet-lined walls. The finest porcelain teacups and silver spoons adorned every table, while plates of delicacies were passed around by the staff in their impeccable uniforms.

Eleanor sat beside Theodore, feeling the weight of the moment. It was a rare occurrence for both families to come together like this, and the air between them felt thick with anticipation. The ladies engaged in polite conversation, discussing the latest gossip from the season, while the men talked business, politics, and the future.

As she glanced around the room, Eleanor caught the eyes of her parents, who were deep in conversation with Lord and Lady Islington. Her gaze moved back to Theodore, who sat with a cool, composed demeanor. He had been the picture of perfection all evening, charming everyone around him with his quiet confidence and effortless grace. But to Eleanor, his most captivating attribute was the way he made her feel—his presence, the heat of his gaze, the way his fingers brushed against hers when no one was looking.

Beneath the table, Eleanor suddenly felt the warmth of Theodore’s hand resting on her thigh. The gentle pressure sent a shock of warmth racing up her spine, making her breath catch. The contrast between the cool formality of the gathering and the heat that bloomed between them left her feeling breathless. She shifted slightly in her seat, trying to remain composed, but it was a difficult task.

Theodore leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing, meant only for her ears. “Behave yourself, Eleanor,” he whispered, his words sending a shiver down her spine. “You don’t want to get caught.”

His fingers, warm and bold, began to circle the fabric of her dress, tracing small, deliberate patterns against her skin. Eleanor bit her lip to keep from making a sound as his touch became more daring. His hand slid higher along her thigh, inching closer to the edge of where the fabric of her gown met her skin, making her breath come in shallow, uneven gasps. She could feel the heat of his hand, the steady pressure of his fingers, and the weight of his gaze lingering on her face.

She tried to focus on the conversation around her, the polite murmur of her parents and Lady Islington discussing the upcoming events of the season. But Theodore’s hand was relentless, slowly and carefully exploring the edge of her gown, his fingers tracing the curve of her thigh, teasing her in a way that made her body tingle with anticipation.

Eleanor’s breath hitched, her chest tightening as his touch became more intimate, more daring. She fought to remain calm, her hand clutching the edge of her teacup as she struggled to mask her growing awareness of him, of the undeniable pull between them. She could feel her pulse quicken, her skin flushed beneath the layers of silk and lace.

Just as she thought she might lose herself to the moment, a voice interrupted their private world.

“Lady Kensington, are you feeling quite alright?” The Duchess of Islington’s voice cut through the tension, her eyes narrowing with concern as she looked at Eleanor. The older woman’s gaze flicked between her and Theodore, a small smile playing on her lips as she waited for an answer.

Eleanor blinked, her thoughts scrambled as she quickly composed herself. She nodded, forcing a smile onto her lips, and did her best to steady her breathing. “Yes, thank you, Your Grace,” she said smoothly, her voice betraying none of the turmoil she felt inside. “I’m quite well.”

She could feel Theodore’s fingers still lingering on her leg, but now they were barely a whisper against her skin. He hadn’t pulled away, and she wondered if he enjoyed the game as much as she did. His eyes were fixed on her, but he didn’t react to the Duchess’s question. He simply sat back, his expression unreadable, his hand retreating from her thigh in favor of resting casually on the armrest.

The Duchess nodded, seemingly satisfied with Eleanor’s response, but there was a knowing look in her eyes as she continued to converse with Lady Kensington. The moment passed, but Eleanor could feel the heat of the interaction lingering in the air, the unspoken words between her and Theodore hanging like a veil.

As the evening continued, the conversation around her shifted again, but Eleanor could hardly focus. Her mind was spinning from the moments she had just shared with Theodore—his touch, his whispers, the overwhelming feeling of being both seen and desired in a way that left her feeling exposed. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Theodore was testing her, pushing the boundaries of propriety in a way that both thrilled and unnerved her.

And yet, despite the momentary discomfort, there was something irresistible about it. The way he could make her feel so alive, so aware of herself, even in the midst of such a formal gathering. Eleanor knew that there was more to their relationship than the titles and the expectations that surrounded them. She couldn’t deny the passion that simmered beneath the surface, the tension that was building between them with every glance, every touch.

By the time the formal tea drew to a close, Eleanor was exhausted—not from the event itself, but from the emotional turmoil that Theodore had stirred within her. As the guests began to stand and exchange pleasantries, Theodore stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back as he helped her rise from her seat.

“I think we’ve tested the limits of restraint for one evening,” he whispered, his voice smooth, yet tinged with a hint of amusement. He gave her a small, private smile that made her heart race. “But I’m not done with you yet, Eleanor.”

Eleanor met his gaze, her pulse quickening once again. His words sent a thrill through her, and she found herself unable to speak for a moment, caught in the allure of his promise. She could feel the weight of the evening’s tension building within her, and despite the propriety she was meant to uphold, she couldn’t help but wonder what would come next.

As the two families exchanged their final pleasantries, Eleanor’s heart was already racing, and the evening’s formalities felt like a distant memory. All she could think of was Theodore—his touch, his words, and the thrilling promise of what was to come when they were finally alone.

The formal tea had ended, but the game between them was just beginning.