Perhaps sensing his restlessness, Elysande shifted, making a sleepy sound in her throat and reaching for him. Her palm settled on his bare chest. As always, her touch sent a spark of pure electricity sweeping through him.
Last night, they had both been too exhausted to make love. His body was reminding him of their omission, his cock slowly stiffening beneath the bedclothes. His heart steadily thumped, calming down now that the fear infecting him during his relentless nightmare abated. Taking deep, calming breaths, he forced himself to focus upon the comforting weight of her palm on his chest.
For a moment, perhaps he could lie here and pretend there was not a very real possibility he would have to leave her. That he would be arrested for Maude’s murder. But for now, for this sliver in time, she was his and he was hers. He could think of no one he would rather have beside him in his bed or in his life.
How fortunate he had been to marry her.
She was intelligent and brave and loyal. Fearless and persistent and good. She was bold and graceful, everything he could have wanted in a wife and then some. But she deserved more than he could offer her. The truth hit him as he pressed his hand over hers, gently guiding hers until it rested over his heart.
He was in love with Elysande.
Their marriage of convenience had turned into a love match. Christ, he would not have believed it, merely a month ago, that he would be brought so low by any woman, let alone her. But his attraction to her—undeniable as it was intense—had kindled the flames that ultimately burned into raging fires. She had selflessly thrown herself into aiding him however she could, and he would never be able to thank her enough.
There is one way I can, he realized, though the very notion of it was akin to a dagger to the gut, which was a sensation he was more than familiar with.
Divorce.
He hated the thought of never being able to hold her, kiss her, or touch her again. The idea of her being no longer his but another man’s…Christ, he loathed it. But he knew he would have to. If he was unsuccessful in proving his innocence, and if O’Rourke arrested him for Maude’s murder, he was going to have to do what was right and fair for Elysande’s sake.
“You are awake,” she whispered, cutting through the quiet and the heaviness of his thoughts.
“I had a nightmare.”
The admission was given easily, for theirs was a comfortable intimacy. Chief Inspector Stone would never have confessed to such a vulnerability. The Duke of Wycombe, however, did. There was no one he trusted more than Ellie. If he was forced to leave her, he would mourn the loss to his dying day.
A stark recognition for a man who had always believed himself to be like his surname, cold and hard as a stone.
“Do you want to tell me?” she asked, understanding him so well.
Another lady might have demanded to know.
“No,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers. He had brought enough darkness into her life. He would not make the demons chasing him one more.
She scooted nearer to him, her lips finding his shoulder. “Shall we rise, then?”
“Not yet.” He found himself reluctant to leave the haven of this chamber.
It was hers. He had not bothered to settle himself in the duke’s apartments, for he felt more as if he belonged here than anywhere else. Their bond had been forged not merely in the vows they had spoken, but in the trials they had faced together. Her willingness to trust and believe in him still awed Hudson.
But he could not shake the foreboding tightening around him like inescapable bands, the fear that once he left the quiet comfort of this chamber and her side, that he would never have the chance to return.
However, he did not give voice to that.
No need to worry her unduly.
He raised her palm to his lips, pressing a kiss to the satiny center. “I want to keep you here forever just like this.”
“Silly man.” Her lips were on his shoulder once more. “You do have me forever.”
Maybe not. Maybe I only have you for the next minute, the next hour, the next day.
The words shook him. Regardless of how much time he had remaining with her, it would never be enough. Not even an eternity would suffice.
He kissed her inner wrist, which was supple and soft, the delicate tracery of her veins alive and pulsing against his lips. “I am grateful you are mine, Ellie.”
For now.
Damn it all, how had they come to this? The fault was his. His damnable pride, thinking he would be the one to find Reginald Croydon and send him back to prison where he belonged.
