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They had been husband and wife for months.

She had promised herself to him before God, yet until this moment it had felt as though an invisible wall had remained between them. Now, standing beneath the coloured light spilling through the stained glass, she found herself wanting nothing more than for that final barrier to disappear.

If he truly meant what he had said, if he would no longer decide for them both what distance ought to exist between them, then she wished for him to stop holding himself back. She wanted him to take her here. She could feel his hardness against her, and she could hear the change in his breathing.

She had spent the last week hearing every scandalous bedroom tale imaginable from Cecily, and she now wanted to explore herself. She pressed herself against him even further and reached a hand down between them to caress him.

As her hands found him, the last of his restraint seemed to snap.

In one swift movement, Arthur hoisted Eliza upwards, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as her back remained pinned against the cool marble pillar. His lips found her neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin while the weight of his body held her upright.

His hands roamed over her, and she could not seem to control the sounds he drew from her—some of the sounds she had barely recognised as herself.

Arthur’s hands disappeared beneath the layers of her skirts and petticoats, tracing the curve of her thighs and the softness of her skin until he found her bare and already waiting for him. His fingers slipped between her legs, one pressing inside her as his thumb began circling her clit with a touch that was gentle and yet maddeningly firm.

Eliza gasped. Her body tightened around his finger, her nails digging into his shoulders as though holding on to him might somehow steady her.

“Had you been a little more patient, we might have done this properly. Slowly. In our bed,” he grumbled against her ear, his teeth catching lightly at the sensitive skin before he added another finger, his pace increasing while his thumb continued its relentless circles.

A moan tore from her, her body moving helplessly against his as her breath caught somewhere in her throat. The pleasure was building too quickly now, tightening low within her until every part of her seemed poised upon the brink of release.

Another slow circle of his thumb robbed her of whatever breath she might have used to answer him and her body shuddered through its release, every carefully guarded thought scattering beneath the force of it until there was nothing left but Arthur—the strength of his shoulders beneath her hands, the warmth of his breath against her skin, the impossible intimacy of being held so completely by the man she had spent weeks believing she had lost.

She had never known pleasure could feel like this. Never known it could leave her trembling and breathless, suspended somewhere between sensation and disbelief.

And Arthur was watching her.

There was something almost unbearable in the way he looked at her, his eyes dark and intent, as though he wished to commit every fleeting expression to memory. As though, after all those weeks of denying them both, he could not believe he was permitted to look at her this way again.

This was only the beginning.

She felt the absence of his fingers, followed by the hurried rustle of clothing. Her skirts remained gathered around her waist and, when Eliza's gaze slipped down between them, she caught the briefest glimpse of him.

Good God.

Her breath caught.

Arthur moved further between her legs before his eyes lifted to hers, and despite the hunger written plainly across his face, he did not move. He waited.

A question.

Eliza nodded.

He entered her slowly, giving her body time to accommodate him, but a sharp sting still stole her breath as he pressed deeper. Her nails found his shoulders once more, holding tightly as Arthur buried his face against her neck, the sound of his moan vibrating warmly against her skin.

There was something almost intoxicating about hearing such a thing torn from a man who ordinarily possessed so much control.

And then he stopped.

For several moments he remained perfectly still, his breath warm against her neck, despite every taut line of his body betraying how much the restraint cost him.

Understanding slowly dawned.

He was waiting for her.

“I’m all right,” she whispered, the words just about louder than a breath. A small chuckle escaped him against the crook of her neck, the sound seeming to reverberate through her entire body.

“My Duchess,” he chuckled tightly, his voice little more than a low rumble against her skin, “I am only halfway in.”