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Professionals. Mistresses. The thought had prompted her to chew on the inside of her cheek.
The words had not troubled her before. Now they refused to leave her alone. He had desired her; she knew that. She had seen it written plainly across his face, but what if the reason he had yet to darken her door was that he was able to satisfy himself with someone else?
Arthur had promised to answer every question she asked. There was very little point in lying awake imagining answers when she could ask the man himself. Her gaze drifted towards the adjoining door linking their chambers. It remained exactly as it always had.
Closed.
Silent.
Perfectly still.
Yet tonight it seemed to command every ounce of her attention.
Before courage had the opportunity to abandon her, she threw back the covers and slipped her bare feet onto the cool wooden floor. The chill travelled instantly through her body, making her draw in a quiet breath. Gathering the hem of her nightdress into trembling fingers, she padded silently across the room until she found herself standing before the door, her hand hovering only inches from the handle before she summoned the last of her courage to reach for it.
Arthur's room was pitch-black, and she believed the evening light had little to do with the darkness within.
She tiptoed into his room with the quiet creak of his bedchamber door announcing her arrival.
"Arthur?" she called softly, only to then have something solid bump her calves as she tried to make her way to him,
"Are you awake?" she whispered.
Another dull thud echoed through the room with what felt like an ottoman hitting her foot. She stretched both hands out before herself to try and get a better sense of the room.
"I am now," he answered, and she thought she detected almost a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Even when you are not talking, you somehow managed to announce your every movement. A rustle of linen. A foot brushing the carpet. The gentle clatter of something narrowly avoided. Have you ever done anything silently?” Arthur drawled.
"Sorry!" she whispered far louder than necessary. "It's so difficult to see." She offered as an explanation while continuing to inch forwards, fingertips searching empty air for something to guide her way.
She took another uncertain step. Then another. At this rate she would either find him or concuss herself.
One moment, her hands stroked the darkness. The next, her palm met warm skin. He must have risen from the bed and crossed the room, but she had not even heard him move.
A small gasp escaped her as her fingers spread instinctively across the centre of his chest, confirming that she had, in fact, stumbled upon a person and not another piece of furniture.
Arthur stood perfectly still.
"Hi..." she said. She hadn’t actually thought her plan through; she had deployed all her courage to enter the room, and now all sense of reason had deserted her.
Arthur looked down at the figure standing before him, once again perplexed by the woman who was his wife. How anyone could remain so relentlessly cheerful was beyond him. It was the middle of the night. She had wandered into a former soldier's bedchamber, nearly earning herself a bullet, and yet she appeared positively pleased with the outcome.
"Duchess?" he said.
"Mmm?" she muttered.
"What are you doing in my chambers?"
He kept his voice gentler than he intended. She would eventually have to understand that surprising sleeping soldiers was a poor habit to cultivate.
"Oh!" she said brightly. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd come and say hello and collect."
Collect? Before he could ask what on earth she meant, her hand slipped from the centre of his chest, trailing almost absent-mindedly down the hard line of his ribs before settling briefly around his forearm.
She stepped around him as though he were nothing more than a convenient landmark. Keeping one hand upon him, she shuffled sideways until her fingers found the carved bedpost instead. Only then did she let go.
Arthur found himself looking down at the place where her hand had been.
