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Eliza might have laughed had she been given the opportunity. Instead she was dropped amongst his linens and found Arthur’s lips on hers before she had properly caught her breath. And then came the words. Those sweet nothings she had once been so certain her husband would never utter.

She remembered him asking a question. Something along the lines of, “Does my wife have the energy to continue her education?” before that lazy, wicked smile had spread across his face.

After that, her gown had been quite forgotten, and the soft kisses that followed had blurred together until she could scarcely distinguish one from another. Arthur had touched her as though he possessed all the time in the world to prove that he loved her.

And perhaps he did. He had explored every curve and contour with a reverence that made her ache, taking his time with her at first, learning what made her sigh, what made her arch towards him, what caused his name to escape her lips with considerably less dignity than she might otherwise have preferred.

He loved her.

Good heavens, he really loved her.

The thought still possessed the power to steal her breath.

There had been no bargain between them the night before, and she suspected there never would be again. No arrangement. No obligation.

Only Arthur wanting his wife.

And Eliza, finally free to want her husband without wondering whether every kiss would be followed by another retreat.

As the night wore on, however, tenderness gave way to something more urgent, as though, after months of refusing to make love to her, Arthur intended to spend the entire night showing her precisely what the words meant.

Afterwards, they slept tangled together, only for one of them to stir some time later and inevitably reach for the other again. And so the night continued in that strange, blissful rhythm: sleep, gentle affection dissolving into passion until exhaustion claimed them once more.

By morning light, Eliza had lost count of how many times she had fallen asleep against his chest only to wake wrapped around him again.

So now, as she lay in bed with a shallow ache across her body, she did not mind. Eliza ran her hand across a sleeping Arthur’s chest, almost as if to reassure herself that this was not a dream.

Arthur stirred immediately and spoke with his eyes still closed.

“Wife, I would love nothing more than to take you once more, but I fear I need to eat something before I expend any more energy.”

She laughed softly.

“I suppose I can permit that. After all, you are considerably older than I am, so, understandably, you should require more sustenance,” Eliza teased.

“I’ll have you know, I possess quite enough energy to take you back to Winworth and have you in every room on the estate.” Arthur almost hissed the words as he sat upright, though the amusement dancing in his eyes rather undermined the performance.

Eliza smiled sweetly. “Now that is a deal I can get behind.”

His lips immediately found her neck, peppering kisses along the sensitive skin and down towards her collarbone.

“Then how about we bargain?” Arthur murmured.

“Half a dozen pastries and some eggs for me, in exchange for a thrilling adventure upon our return to Winworth.”

Eliza stilled.

A bargain.

Once, that word had meant twenty thousand pounds and an heir. It had meant signatures upon paper, expectations laid out with all the cold practicality of a business arrangement, and two near-strangers attempting to determine precisely what they were prepared to give one another in exchange for what they needed.

How very different a bargain could sound when proposed between husband and wife.

“Are you proposing another bargain, Your Grace?” she asked, unable to suppress her smile.

“I believe I am,” Arthur confirmed.

“And what precisely are the terms?”