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"Yes,” he said curtly.

"But why?"

Arthur looked down at her, his timing and box step unaffected.

His gaze swept briefly around the ballroom before returning to hers. He could have told her it was because she was odd. Because she looked different. Because no lady of the ton possessed thick black curls, olive skin, and startling green eyes. Because no aristocratic lady reached for strangers with kindness instead of calculation.

Instead, he found himself saying, "Because you are now married to me."

"Oh," she said.

She considered that for a moment.

"I suppose that is rather difficult to hide; you are rather large."

Arthur looked at her and, for one impossibly brief moment, the right corner of his mouth twitched upwards before settling once more into its customary line.

Chapter 9

It was her wedding night. The thought alone sent warmth to her cheeks. She barely remembered leaving the ballroom. The evening had passed as though she had floated through it, every conversation and introduction blurring into one another.

But one memory remained perfectly clear: dancing in Arthur's arms. It had lasted only a few minutes, yet she had been enchanted ever since, the spell only beginning to fade as it gave way to exhaustion. The events of the day were finally catching up with her, and it took everything she had not to collapse the moment she stepped into her new bedroom. Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and she had to all but command them to remain open, but as she lacked the conviction her husband carried behind his commands, she doubted her body would obey her for long.

If the mere touch of her husband’s hand on her back made her shudder, Eliza had no hope of keeping her composure tonight; she had no idea what would happen, and the most plausible explanation was that she would simply combust. She would, she decided, continue to be open and honest with him about her fears. If they were ever to build a happy marriage, it would have to rest on trust, and she intended to give theirs every chance to flourish.

But what would she say?

"Good evening, Arthur. I remain in possession of my virtue, but please understand that you are the most handsome man, heavens, you are the most man, I have ever laid eyes upon, and the thought of our bodies pressed together may send me three shades darker than my rouge. Do forgive me."

She almost groaned to herself. Her humiliation was broken only by the sight of a fresh bath in the corner of the room, which appeared to have been drawn for her. She had not noticed it when she entered, having been so focused on staying upright. Stepping towards the bath, she then noticed a silver tray beside it, laden with a selection of meats, fruit, and cheese.

She had no idea how it got there, but she was grateful. Carrying the tray over to the bed, she sat down and devoured a few grapes before glancing at the clock.

It was almost two o'clock in the morning.

What happened now? She knew what was supposed to transpire on her wedding night, but she was in her room alone. Did she need to go to her husband? Was he going to seek her out?

She lay down on her back, still in her dress and corset, as she ran her hands over her face before studying the canopy above her.

“What a day,” she said, but the canopy did not respond.

She should not have sunk back into the comfort of her mattress as her eyes grew heavier with each passing minute, and she soon lost the battle with fatigue, which meant she never heard the connecting door open.

Arthur paused at the threshold. The fire had burned low, casting the room in soft amber light. He saw a thick head of curly hair on a pillow and the white fabric of her wedding dress peeking out from the side of the bed. Eliza had not even changed into a night dress.

Slowly, he crossed the room, standing at the side of her bed; her back was to him, and her breathing was deep and even. Eliza was fast asleep. Still wearing her gown, she lay curled upon the bed, one shoe abandoned upon the floor while the other clung stubbornly to her toes.

The silver tray beside her was only half-empty, as if she had waited to share it with him. For a long moment, he simply stood there.

"You foolish girl," he murmured, though there was no irritation behind the words.

Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed. The tightly laced corset could not have been comfortable. She would struggle to breathe properly if she slept in it. He dreaded to think what Laurence would say if his wife failed to survive her first night beneath his roof.

Then, with deliberate precision, he reached for the ribbons of her corset and loosened them just enough to allow her chest to rise more easily.

Instinctively, Eliza turned onto her front with her newfound freedom, nestling deeper into the pillows.

Arthur froze at the movement, until a small snore escaped her. Satisfied she would not cease breathing in her sleep, he rose quietly to his feet.