He glanced over his shoulder at her as she neared. But now, instead of holding his wire spectacles, he waswearingthem.
“That was quicker than I anticipated,” he said, returning his gaze back to the fabrics on the desk.
“Prince does not enjoy the cold, and there was a rather stiff breeze outside.”
“You went outside?” He turned his face toward her, looking very much like he could peer into her soul with his small lenses.
She shrugged. “I only opened the door, but I could feel the breeze.” She joined him in glancing about the bolts of fabric and paper. “What is all of this?”
The duke had his sleeves rolled up his forearm, and Louisa couldn’t help but appreciate the corded muscles as he pressedhis weight on them. He was her husband, after all. Surely looking was not so very wrong.
“I thought you could redecorate this room more to your liking.”
Warmth started in the depths of her stomach, fingering out to her chest, leaving a tingle in its wake. “Truly?”
“Yes.” His brow scrunched as if greatly pondering the situation. “I have never cared much for it. I admit that I always feel out of place here, and as Mother insists this is where we receive most of our guests . . . let’s just say it does not help with my aversion to making conversation.”
Louisa let her eyes dance across the table, taking in the expensive fabrics.
The duke stood up straight. “I had planned to show this to you tomorrow and allow you and Mother to discuss it then. But since you are awake now . . .”
“These are exquisite.” Louisa ran her hand over a particularly lovely blue, green, and brown paisley. “This would make beautiful tapestries.” His body beside her exuded warmth, and a rather irritating part of her wanted to run her hand along his forearm, just as she had the fabric, and see what the exposed skin felt like beneath her fingers.
“I am glad you like that one.” His voice jerked her attention back to the samples on the table. “It’s my personal favorite.”
Louisa turned her head so she could see him more clearly. He stood, clasping his hands behind his back, eyes calculating as he gazed at the contents of the table. And then there were those distracting spectacles. Her next thought slipped from her lips. “I did not realize you wear eyeglasses.”
“Oh.” As if forgetting they were there, he touched a hand to his ear. “Yes. Only while reading. Or, in this case, looking at intricate patterns.” He squinted his eyes, then leaned forward as if to demonstrate.
“Do you often stay up late looking at fabrics?”
His cheek creased with a smile and his chest gave a low rumble.
A laugh. It felt like a triumph.
“No. Though I do tend to stay up late. It’s a time when I can finally—”
“Be alone?” She finished his sentence without thinking.
He kept his head forward, but his deep blue eyes shifted to her. “Yes. Precisely.”
“Well, I do not wish to interrupt your peace and quiet.” She pushed away from the table. “I should go back to bed.”
“No, I didn’t mean to imply—” He scuffed a hand across his face, apparently forgetting he was wearing his eyeglasses. They lay tilted at an odd angle as he let his hand fall, his index finger on his right hand tapping furiously on his thigh.
Louisa chuckled. “Here.” She reached up, adjusting the frames so they sat level across his nose.
“Thank you.” Sighing, he braced his hands on his hips. “As I was saying, I do not want you to feel like your presence here is a burden to me. I want us to . . .” His voice trailed off.
“To what?”
He reached his hands up into his hair, gripping the strands and making them stand up at half-hazard points. “Goodness if I know.”
And then she laughed in truth. Not a chuckle or a smirk, but a laugh that bubbled up from her innermost being. She had never seen him like this. Usually, his shoulders were rigid beneath an immaculately pressed jacket, his hair groomed to perfection, his manners in check, and his words concise. But now, before her in the middle of the night, was a man she hardly recognized. Someone who thought to ask her opinions about something as simple as redecorating a room. Someone who allowed his shirt to lie unbuttoned across his collarbones, or let his hair remainin disarray while fiddling with his spectacles. Someone who seemed human.
And she also had to wonder again—as it became clear with his arms raised above his head, his forearms exposed and muscles more apparent in his shirtsleeves—howdidhe have such a physique?
Letting his arms fall, he removed his spectacles, rubbing his face with his free hand. His eyes peeped open as he held the bridge of his nose. “Are they that terrible?”
