Page 107
His gaze never left them.
"They are so impossibly green that I find myself looking for them even when you are no longer in the room." A slow breath escaped him.
"I have spent more evenings than I care to admit lying awake in my own bed thinking of you. And the thought of returning to your body provided me with ample motivation when I travelled across Belgium." He laughed quietly at himself, almost embarrassed by the confession.
"The curve of your smile."
"The way you dance when you believe yourself alone."
"The ridiculous little crease that appears between your brows whenever you are concentrating."
His expression softened still further.
"The way your legs disappear beneath your skirts before somehow managing to carry you through every room in this house with such grace that I scarcely hear your footsteps."
His thumb brushed gently across her damp cheek, catching another tear before it could fall.
"I have never looked at you and wished you were anything other than exactly as you are."
His eyes searched hers with quiet desperation, willing her to believe him.
"I admit that I had asked for a plain or even ugly bride.” He heard her gasp, but he pushed on.
"But I was dismayed that you were what I was presented with at the altar because you are anything but. Do not allow one bitter, hateful man to convince you otherwise."
She held his gaze for only a moment before it faltered.
"He said..." she whispered, her voice trembling once more.
"...that breeding cannot be disguised with silk." Arthur felt something inside him tighten with such force that it was almost painful. For a heartbeat he closed his eyes. He should have shot Malcolm not below the neck, but above it, in the mouth. When he opened his eyes again, all he saw was Eliza's tear-stained face, and without another word, he slowly lifted one arm.
She did not flinch.
Taking that as permission, he slipped his arm carefully around her waist. He drew her gently towards him until she rested against his chest, every movement slow enough that she could pull away at any moment should she wish. She did not. Instead, she settled in his embrace, her cheek pressed against him enough for her to hear the steady rhythm of his heart.
Arthur lowered his chin until it rested lightly against the crown of her head.
"Listen to me." His voice rumbled quietly above her.
"No amount of silk or coin could ever make another woman into you."
He kissed the top of her head.
"And I thank God every day that you are my wife."
"Then why won't you...?" she whispered, the words muffled against the white linen of his shirt.
Arthur closed his eyes. The question had lingered between them for weeks, surfacing in different forms only to disappear again before either of them possessed the courage to answer it honestly.
His hand continued its slow journey up and down her back as he held her in an embrace. When he finally spoke, his voice was little more than a murmur.
"Because..." He hesitated before continuing. “You deserve a husband who can make love to his wife."
His fingers stilled for only a heartbeat before resuming their steady rhythm.
"And I have not believed myself capable of love for a very long time."
The admission settled heavily between them. He had never spoken those words aloud before, not to Laurence. Not to Radnor. Not even to himself. He had accepted them as truth. Against his chest, Eliza gave the smallest shake of her head.
