Eleanor studied Aubrey as he spoke, really looked at him for perhaps the first time since he'd arrived. Even with the week's growth of beard he had been beautiful. Now, with his strong jawline visible and the thick column of his neck exposed, he was devastatingly handsome. The thick brows, the expressive blue eyes, the way his face animated when he smiled, allmesmerised her.
Eleanor realised she was staring when Aubrey paused mid-sentence, his smile widening.
"What?" he asked softly.
"Nothing." Eleanor dropped her gaze to her plate, heat flooding her cheeks. "I was simply... listening."
But she could feel his eyes on her, warm and amused, and when she dared glance up again, his blue eyes were twinkling with something that looked almost like pleasure.
After luncheon, Eleanor cleared the dishes while Aubrey watched with obvious reluctance.
"You don't have to do that. Mrs Williams will be here shortly."
"She is busy managing the household," Eleanor said briskly. "I'm perfectly capable of carrying dishes."
"I know you are. But you shouldn't have to."
Eleanor ignored him, stacking plates with practiced ease. When she returned from delivering the dishes to a waiting maid, she laid out her medical supplies on the bedside table.
"Time for your dressing change," she said, forcing herself back into the detached mode.
Aubrey shifted against his pillows, the movement almost effortless now. Eleanor moved to the bedside. "Let me help you turn."
She manoeuvred him with relative ease, Aubrey now having considerably less pain and more movement in his hips. He cooperated with more grace than he had in the early days.
As Eleanor examined the healing wounds, she noticed—and carefully did not react to—the evidence of his semi-arousal beneath the sheet.
She kept her touch efficient, her expression neutral, even as heat crept up her neck. It was natural, she told herself. A physical response. It didn't necessarily mean anything about his thoughts or feelings.
The thought that he might not even be thinking of her—that his body might simply be responding to any woman's touch—doused the small flicker of flattery like cold water.
"You're looking much better," Eleanor said briskly, applying fresh salve to the abrasions. "Another week and you'll scarcely need bandaging at all."
"Eleanor."
She paused, looking up to find Aubrey studying her face with an intensity that made her breath hitch.
"You look beautiful today," he said quietly.
Eleanor's hands stilled. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not." His voice was serious now, all playfulness gone. "You look beautiful. The deep purple suits you. And your hair—" He gestured vaguely. "It's different. Softer."
"Mrs. Duncan's doing," Eleanor said dismissively, returning to her work. "She has opinions about my appearance."
"Well, her opinions are correct." Aubrey shifted slightly. "Come closer. Let me see you properly."
Eleanor's heart hammered, but she moved closer almost against her will. Aubrey's eyes traced over her face, her hair, her form, with an expression that could only be described as hungry.
"Lovely," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Truly, Eleanor. You arelovely."
Eleanor's face burned. She turned away from him and opened her mouth to deflect, to dismiss, to—
And then she saw that his earlier semi-arousal had become decidedly more pronounced.
She gasped audibly, her eyes widening, heat flooding her face so intensely she thought she might combust.
"I apologise," Aubrey said, though he didn't sound particularly sorry. "As I've mentioned before, it's not something I can control. Particularly when my beautiful wife is standing so close, looking at me like that."
