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"So, what I'm trying to say is, it is perfectly acceptable to be nervous."

A hopeful smile crept onto her face.

"But perhaps we could simply give it a go together."

She gently pushed the books and all their notes a little closer across his desk.

"And..."

Her smile grew almost triumphant.

"I have been doing my research."

Arthur's eyes dropped to the offending volumes.

"I believe I may even be able to help."

She frowned slightly.

"Though..." She tapped one finger thoughtfully against the cover. "I am not entirely certain how accurate all of it is. There was something rather peculiar about wives not eating cherries..."

She muttered the last part mostly to herself. Arthur continued staring at her.

He had faced cavalry charges.

French artillery.

Political opponents.

None of them had ever rendered him quite so immobile.

He rose from his seat intending only to motion her into his chair and reverse their positions entirely. He would reclaim the advantage, restore the proper distance between them, and recover the composure she had so effortlessly stolen before delivering the thorough lecture she so clearly required.

Instead, he found himself picking up the first book and walking towards her. This caught him by surprise. It seemed to surprise Eliza as well, for she looked momentarily puzzled before instinctively taking a step backwards. Then another, until her back met the wall.

Arthur decided to pin her there. One hand came to rest against the wall beside her left cheek, while the other still held the book, pressing it lightly against the wall to her right and leaving her framed between his arms.

The sound of their breathing filled the room.

Only then did he truly look at her.

She had tilted her face up towards him. A blush had begun somewhere beneath the neckline of her gown, climbing slowly over her throat before blooming across her cheeks. Her green eyes were wide with surprise.

He could breathe in the delicate scent of lavender that clung to her hair. Every shallow breath she took stirred the curls that had escaped around her face, and his gaze followed one as it brushed against the flushed skin of her neck. If he lowered his head but an inch, he would be able to taste the soft skin at the nape.

The intensity of his stare robbed her of her voice. For the first time since he had met her, words seemed to desert her of their own accord. It should have felt like a victory. Instead, he had the distinct impression he had just lost the battle.

"I need you to listen to me very, very closely, my Duchess," His voice emerged lower than intended. He cleared his throat before continuing.

"I am a Duke."

His gaze never left hers.

"I am thirty years old."

He saw her swallow.

"I have seen rather more of the world than you can imagine."