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“I was looking for evidence, of sorts.” She drew a small breath.

“I have a favour to ask, and I thought if I built a convincing case first, you might be persuaded. But now you’ve gone and thoroughly destroyed my senses, so whatever argument I had prepared stands no chance of being even a fraction as persuasive.”

She sighed dramatically.

Arthur’s mouth twitched as one eyebrow lifted, but he said nothing. Apparently, he intended to leave her to untangle the mess he had made of her thoughts entirely on her own.

"This ball..." she began. "I am so excited for it. But because it is in London..." She hesitated before meeting his eyes. "I would dearly love for James and Cecily to be there."

Arthur’s gaze was still fixed on her; he said nothing.

"Your mother says it cannot be done because Cecily is a maid and James works on the docks. But..." She gestured vaguely towards the towering shelves around them.

"I have read stories of servants climbing the ranks. I was hoping to find one to prove my point, though I have yet to locate the right book."

She gave a sheepish smile. Her voice became quieter.

"I should very much like my brother and sister to see me. So..." she concluded with a hopeful smile, "...what I am really asking is whether you might help me convince your wonderfully kind, but impossibly stubborn, mother that my siblings should be permitted to attend the ball."

She squeezed his hands.

"Please and thank you."

It was, she realised, a lamentably poor performance. Her carefully assembled evidence lay forgotten, and her perfectly respectable argument was in tatters.

Still, considering what had become of her upon Arthur’s library table, she could hardly complain.

Some prices, Eliza decided, were entirely worth paying.

Chapter 36

Arthur stood gazing out of the window in his office, one hand tucked behind his back.

Laurence had been speaking for the better part of five minutes about the Duchess’ latest request, though Arthur doubted he could have recounted a single word.

Instead, his mind was back with Eliza yesterday afternoon. The way she had shuddered beneath him. The loud cries that had escaped her with every brush of his tongue, and that no doubt echoed across the entire North wing. He had been perilously close to abandoning every ounce of restraint he possessed and taking her upon the library table.

Yet he was trying. At the very least, he wished to earn her affection, to court her properly before he claimed her as his wife in every sense of the word; Eliza deserved that much.

His thoughts drifted back to the footman’s arrival, delivering the note that unfailingly signalled the stroke of midday. Arthur unfolded it.

Your Grace has bathed, danced, practised the pianoforte and is presently exploring the library.

A smile had tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The last time his wife had ventured into the library, she had emerged carrying books on marital duties, announcing with complete sincerity that she wished to help him, and he had, perhaps foolishly, promised to educate her on pleasure and passion. It occurred to him that he had yet to fulfil that promise, and with that thought in mind, he had set off in search of her, fully intending to begin her lesson.

One moment he had intended to discuss Aristotle, and the next his wife had been smiling down at him from the top of a ladder, every sensible thought he possessed having deserted him.

"Buck."

Arthur remained staring out of the window, still lost in thought.

"Buck."

"Hm?"

"Would you care to rejoin the conversation? Or shall I leave you to whatever scandalous recollections presently occupy your mind?" Laurence said on a sigh.