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Yet somehow it transformed the room.

She no longer hovered uncertainly upon the threshold as she had during those first awkward weeks of their marriage. Then, she seemed afraid of intruding upon his space. Now, she entered without hesitation.

Not boldly. Simply naturally. Arthur watched her approach in silence.

Her gown was simple, pale blue with delicate white embroidery around the cuffs, though it was not the dress that held his attention.

It was her. There was the faintest smudge of charcoal upon one slender fingertip, no doubt acquired whilst sketching beside Radnor's bed. Her cheeks retained a healthy warmth from walking across the grounds. Although tiredness lingered beneath her bright green eyes, they still carried the same impossible softness whenever they settled upon him.

"Hello, husband."

"Duchess," he answered quietly.

His voice emerged lower than intended. Neither of them looked away. The silence between them was no longer uncomfortable. It had been eight weeks since he had last sought out a woman for the uncomplicated satisfaction of his body.

Five weeks since he had taken a wife. Nearly a fortnight since he had ridden from Winworth to retrieve Radnor. Perhaps that was all this was.

The body remembering its appetites after too much deprivation, too much blood, too little sleep.

He had been a bachelor for over a decade. He knew desire well enough.

Surely that was why every glance at Eliza lingered longer than it ought.

“Are you busy?” she asked.

Arthur nodded honestly, looking down at the pile of papers Laurence had been unable to complete on his desk.

"So I gathered," she muttered to herself before making herself comfortable in the armchair opposite his desk. A tiny smile curved at the corners of her lips as her feet dangled over the sides of the chair and she sketched quietly. She bowed her head, not looking at him, allowing him to continue with his work.

And now, as he lay staring up at the canopy of his bed in the darkness, he realised the day had felt both ordinary and extraordinary.

Ordinary because nothing had happened.

Extraordinary because his mind had wandered to thoughts of his wife more times than he cared to admit.

Chapter 24

Eliza folded her hands neatly over her stomach and stared upwards into the darkness where the embroidered canopy disappeared from sight.

Tomorrow, she planned to write again to Cecily, James and Richard, though she anticipated a response only from Cecily. With Radnor so unwell, she decided she may also visit the village market to find him a gift, though she did not know a gift worthy enough for a man who had been willing to sacrifice a limb for his country.

A smile spread slowly across her face that Arthur was back. It was not the most appropriate of times, but she could not help herself thinking back to a few days before his departure, to the encounter in his study. The thought alone made warmth bloom across her cheeks as she buried herself a little deeper beneath the blankets, unable to stop herself from remembering the feel of his hand against her face. His thumb had scarcely moved, yet she had felt every slight movement against her skin, and when she closed her eyes, she could still picture the dark intensity with which he had looked at her, as though she alone occupied the room.

She squeezed the quilt tighter beneath her fingers as she remembered him pressed against her back and the kiss he placed on her neck as they danced in near darkness.

She rolled onto one side, fluffing her pillow beneath her cheek before deciding almost immediately it was uncomfortable. With a frustrated huff, she rolled onto the other side, tangling half the blankets around her legs before kicking them free again. Every pleasant thought invited another until her mind became far too awake to surrender itself to rest.

With another sigh, she rolled back onto her back, blowing a stubborn curl away from her forehead where it had fallen across her eyes.

The great long-cased clock beyond her chamber marked each passing second with relentless precision. She had hoped, by now, that she might grow accustomed to the endless silence of Winworth, but instead the sound seemed only to remind her how very awake she remained.

Her fingers absentmindedly traced little circles over the edge of her quilt as her thoughts wandered once more to Arthur.

To the way he had crowded her backwards until cool oak bookshelves met her spine and there had been nowhere left to retreat.

Then another memory surfaced.

There had been professionals.