Chapter fourteen
Brother-In-Law
Aubrey woke to mortification as the morning ray crisscrossed brightly over him through the crack in the drapes.
The dream had been vivid—devastatingly so. Eleanor in that burgundy silk dress, except the dress had been falling from her shoulders. Her hair loose around her face, chestnut waves catching candlelight. Her small, delicate form pressed against his larger frame, fitting perfectly despite their difference in size. Her hands on his chest, his skin, his—
He was hard. Painfully, embarrassingly hard.
And Eleanor would arrive within minutes for his morning care.
Aubrey squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to think of something—anything—that would dampen his body's enthusiastic response to the dream. Parliamentary debates. The tedium of agricultural reports. His father's lectures on duty and responsibility.
Nothing worked.
The memory of last night kept intruding. The way Eleanor had looked in that dress, her hair softened from its usual severe style. The curiosity inher grey eyes as she studied his arousal. The light touch of gauze against his flesh that had nearly undone him completely.
The way she had teased him, enjoying his discomfort with a subtle cruelty that was somehow more arousing than anything he had ever experienced.
His body responded enthusiastically to the memory, and Aubrey cursed under his breath.
This was intolerable. He was a grown man, not some green boy who could not control his own—
He shifted in frustration, trying to find a position that was less uncomfortable. And froze.
That had not hurt.
Not nearly as much as it should have.
Carefully, Aubrey shifted again, testing his range of motion. There was still pain—a deep ache in his hip, tenderness in his bruised flesh—but it was manageable. Significantly better than even yesterday.
He pushed himself more upright against the pillows, using muscles he had barely been able to engage a week ago. The effort made him breathe harder, but he managed it without gasping. Without needing Eleanor's hands on his shoulders, her body close to his, her breath warm against his neck while she—
No. He was not thinking about that.
Aubrey was still trying to master his unruly body when there was a knock at the door. Aubrey's stomach dropped, but he had the presence of the mind to quickly gather more blanket over his groin.
Eleanor entered with her usual brisk efficiency, medical supplies in hand, her hair already pinned severely back for the day. She paused when she saw him sitting more upright than usual.
"You've managed better this morning."
"Yes." Aubrey kept his gaze fixed somewhere past her shoulder. "The pain is... improved."
She approached the bed, setting down her supplies. "That's excellent progress."
"Eleanor." The name came out embarrassingly breathlessly. "Before you begin. I need to speak with you."
She stilled, wariness crossing her face. He forced himself to meet her eyes. "I need to apologise. Properly."
Eleanor's expression remained guarded.
He took a breath. "I was wrong. About everything. About you. About our marriage. About—" He stopped, trying to find words that would actually reach her. "You saved my family's estate while I was too stubborn and too proud to see what was right in front of me. You've cared for me these past weeks with more patience and competence than I deserve. And before that, you managed everything I should have been managing while I..."
"Sulked in London?" Her tone was sharp but not cruel.
"Yes." The admission hurt, but it was also a relief. "I blamed you for our fathers’ choices. For my own failures. And that was... that was cowardice."
Eleanor said nothing at first. Then she moved to the window, adjusting the drapes unnecessarily. "Why now?"
