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His expression grew regretful.

"It is not nearly enough. I had hoped to have found considerably more by now, but I must confess my attention has been somewhat diverted." Eliza knew he meant with Radnor.

"But I shall continue." There was no hesitation. No uncertainty. Only quiet resolve.

Eliza looked from Arthur to the precious bundle of papers he had spent months quietly collecting without ever seeking praise or gratitude. Her vision blurred once more. Not because she was grieving the loss of her locket. But because, for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Arthur had somehow reached into the deepest, most carefully guarded corner of her heart—the place where all pretence fell away, where beneath every hope she had ever dared entertain lay the simplest and most dangerous of them all: to be loved completely.

And here she was, being loved, whether he realised it or not.

"Kiss me," Eliza said. The words emerged as little more than a plea, scarcely louder than a whisper, yet they seemed to echo through the study with a force that silenced everything else.

Arthur did not answer.

His eyes drifted slowly to her lips before returning to hers, and she watched the now familiar battle wage behind them once again, that endless struggle between duty and desire, between the man who believed himself incapable of love and the husband who had spent months proving precisely the opposite through every quiet act of devotion.

She could almost see him searching for one final reason to deny himself.

One final reason to step away.

"Please..." Her voice trembled ever so slightly as she begged, and that single word shattered whatever resolve remained.

Arthur's hand rose to cradle her jaw, his thumb brushing softly across her cheek, whilst the other slipped around the nape of her neck. For one breathless moment, he held her there, his eyes searching hers with an openness she had never before been permitted to see.

Then he lowered his head.

His lips met hers with such impossible tenderness that Eliza forgot to breathe. There was no urgency in it, no demand, none of the hunger that had so often flickered between them. He kissed her as though there were nowhere else he wished to be, as though time itself might wait upon him while he learned the shape of her mouth.

The kiss carried all the hesitation of a man who had imagined the moment a hundred times and never once believed himself worthy of it. Eliza answered him immediately. The palms of her hands slid slowly up the front of his chest until they rested over the steady, powerful beat of his heart, feeling it race beneath her fingertips with a speed that mirrored her own. She leaned into him without fear, silently begging him not to retreat this time.

The moment seemed to coax a quiet surrender from the man beneath her fingertips. The careful restraint with which he had begun gradually dissolved beneath the certainty that she wanted him there, that this kiss was freely given and eagerly returned. He drew her a fraction closer, his fingers tightening amongst the soft curls at her nape as the kiss deepened.

Stubble brushed against her cheeks as a warm hand slipped slowly down the length of her back, drawing her against him until she could feel the swell of him through his breeches. The intimacy of it sent heat rushing through her so suddenly that she gasped against his lips. Arthur froze.

For the briefest of moments neither of them moved. Arthur rested his forehead lightly against hers; a chorus of uneven breaths filled the room while his eyes remained closed as though fearful of what he might see before him.

When his eyes finally fluttered open, Eliza found the same longing on Arthur’s face that she knew must surely be written across her own. With visible effort, he eased himself back, though every instinct urged her to catch hold of him, to draw him in again and keep him exactly where he was.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke.

“Wow,” she finally managed.

Chapter 32

If he were a better man, he would have declined the kiss. Every distance he had attempted to place between them, she had somehow crossed, finding her way back to him with the inevitable persistence of a moth returning to flame. And now she stood before him, her chin tilted towards his chest, wide-eyed and full of hope, apparently oblivious to the fact that he had spent months trying not to burn her.

Shit.

A better man would not be hardened beneath his trousers' placket at the simple touch of his wife. A better man would have the care to understand that she was likely confused and motivated by a desire to forget yesterday's trauma. Arthur broke the kiss and forced himself to take a step back. Eliza deserved a man who woke each morning certain of his own heart, a man who could meet all that hope in her eyes with something equally certain. Every tenderness he allowed himself, every moment of weakness such as this, could only encourage a hope he had no right to nurture, making its eventual disappointment all the more painful. He could not allow himself to give in again.

Yet he watched as she licked her bottom lip, her tongue peeking out ever so slightly, and he was forced to stifle a groan.

"For the good of us both, stop gazing at me like that," said Arthur.

"Why?" Her words were little more than a breathy whisper.

"Because I am thinking very impure thoughts right now."

She tilted her head, the corners of her mouth lifting into a broad smile. "Oh no, a husband is having impure thoughts about his wife. Someone call the society pages."