Page 23 of The Duke’s Bargain

“Assuming it has been some time for you, my friend,” Laurence said with unmistakable amusement, “would you like your oldest and dearest friend to explain what ordinarily transpires on one's wedding night?”

Arthur did not so much as look at him; he focused on the last drop of whisky in his crystal glass.

“Laurence, if you utter another word this evening, I shall send a discreet missive to every drawing room in London informing society that its most notorious rake has contracted a particularly unpleasant case of the clap.”

Silence.

Laurence's grin vanished.

Radnor barked a laugh.

“Now that,” Radnor said, shaking his head, “is a threat worth heeding.”

Arthur allowed himself the smallest hint of satisfaction. Threats of violence had always fallen upon deaf ears where Laurence was concerned. Threats to his reputation with the ladies, however, rendered him quieter than a church mouse.

Chapter 7

Miss Hatch pushed open a pair of tall walnut doors.

"This will be your bedchamber, Your Grace."

Eliza stepped inside, and after a few moments she realised she was holding her breath, caught by the room's quiet grandeur.

Warm afternoon light spilt through towering sash windows; the walls were dressed in rich red woven tapestries that climbed almost to the impossibly high ceiling. Every surface spoke of generations of history; carved walnut furniture gleamed beneath the light, while an enormous Parisian rug stretched across polished wooden floors in intricate shades of blue, gold and crimson.

Dominating the room was the bed. It was unlike anything she had dared imagine. Four dark posts pointed towards the ceiling, supporting a grand canopy draped with ivory silk embroidered in delicate patterns. Heavy curtains, gathered neatly at each corner with crimson braided cords, framed the bed like theatre drapes, promising warmth and privacy once drawn.

Opposite, an ornate mirror stretched above an elaborately carved dressing table.

There was not a single scratch upon the furniture nor a thread out of place. The only things that seemed out of place were Eliza and the small trunk standing open in the corner, its meagre contents amounting to all she possessed.

Miss Hatch crossed the floor to a door that was almost concealed within the panelling beside the fireplace.

“His Grace's apartments are through this door, Your Grace."

The adjoining door stood only a few feet from the bed.

Eliza blushed. Sleeping arrangements had not occurred to her, but she was grateful she would have space to gather her own thoughts.