Aubrey sat alone in the sudden silence, one hand touching his lips where Eleanor had kissed him, where he had kissed her back.
His heart was racing. His body was responding predictably and inconveniently to what had just happened. But more than that, his chest felt full to bursting with hope. Joy. Desire. Love.
She had kissed him. Twice.
And when he'd deepened the kiss, she hadn't pulled away immediately. She'd responded, however briefly, before fear or propriety or self-preservation had made her flee.
She wanted him. Not just physically, though that much was now abundantly clear, but emotionally. She was letting him in, bit by bit, despite all her reasons not to.
Aubrey found the ring box under the covers and opened it one more time, studying the sapphire that caught the winter light.
One week until Christmas.
One week until Eleanor left.
But she had kissed him. Let him kiss her back.
And when she'd fled, he didn’t think it had been from disgust or rejection. She’d been afraid of how much she wantedto stay.
That, Aubrey thought, was progress. Remarkable, terrifying, wonderful progress.
He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath his palm, and smiled.
Chapter twenty-two
Sixth Day of Wooing a Wife
Eleanor sat at her dressing table while Mrs. Duncan brushed out her hair with long, soothing strokes. The routine had become familiar over the past few days, comforting in a way Eleanor hadn't expected.
"You seem troubled, my lady," Mrs. Duncan said quietly, her hands gentle as they worked through a tangle. "If you'll forgive my saying so."
Eleanor met the older woman's eyes in the mirror. Mrs. Duncan had a kind face. Weathered but warm with eyes that suggested she'd seen much of life and understood its complications.
"I'm not sure what I'm doing," Eleanor admitted softly. "With my husband. Everything is changing so quickly, and I—" She stopped, unsure how to continue without revealing too much.
Mrs. Duncan smiled knowingly. "Ah. Matters of the heart are never simple, my lady. Especially when there's been pain involved."
"How do you know when to trust again?" Eleanor's voice was barely above a whisper. "When someone has hurt you deeply, how do you know if it's safe to let them close again?"
Mrs. Duncan was quiet for a moment, her hands continuing their steady rhythm through Eleanor's hair. "I don't think you ever know for certain, my lady. Trust isn't about certainty. It's about choosing to be brave even when you're frightened."
"But what if I'm wrong? What if I let him in and he hurts me again?"
"Then you'll survive it," Mrs. Duncan said gently. "Just as you survived before. But my lady, if I may speak plainly, you're already letting him in. The question isn't whether to trust him. It's whether to admit to yourself that you're already doing it."
Eleanor stared at her reflection, her throat tight. "I’m so scared."
"Of course, you are. Who wouldn’t be?" Mrs. Duncan's smile was sad but fond. "Love is always a risk. Always a leap of faith. The only question is whether the person is worth the risk."
"And if I think he might be?"
"Then you leap, my lady." Mrs. Duncan began braiding Eleanor's hair loosely for sleep. "And you pray the landing is soft."
Eleanor lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Mrs. Duncan's words echoing in her mind.
You're already letting him in.
Was she?
