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With great care, he slid one arm behind her back; his other arm slipped beneath her knees. He lifted her slowly, determined not to wake her. Her head lolled instinctively against his shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she settled against him.

Arthur froze.

She did not wake. Instead, quite unconsciously, she nestled a fraction closer, seeking comfort with the complete trust of someone who had forgotten the waking world altogether.

He had carried wounded men. He had hauled unconscious officers from beneath frightened horses. Yet somehow, holding one sleeping woman in the quiet of his own bedchamber demanded infinitely greater composure. He crossed the short distance to the pillows on his bed and lowered her with painstaking care back onto the mattress.

She murmured something entirely unintelligible beneath her breath before turning instinctively onto her side.

One hand disappeared beneath her cheek. The other came to rest atop the coverlet, and Arthur drew the quilt gently over her shoulder.

At last, the smallest smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"Hopeless girl," he murmured, the words barely louder than the breeze beyond the windows.

He climbed back into bed alongside her, and sleep claimed him soon after.

Chapter 25

Eliza woke from the deepest sleep she had had for a while. For a long moment she did not open her eyes. She breathed. The room smelled faintly of cooling wax and berries. A scent she had begun, without quite realising it, to associate entirely with Arthur.

Her eyes fluttered open. Darkness still cloaked the chamber; the curtains were still drawn, and she lifted herself carefully onto her elbows, blinking against the shadows. She lay there for several moments, allowing herself to exist within the silence she had claimed to hate so fiercely the previous evening.

Curiously, it no longer felt oppressive.

The gentle creak of the door broke the stillness.

Mr Ellis entered carrying a single lamp; he took only two steps before his eyes landed upon her.

He stopped.

For perhaps the first time since she had met him, genuine surprise crossed his usually impassive features. It vanished almost immediately, replaced by impeccable professionalism.

Eliza offered him a sleepy smile.

“Good morning, Mr Ellis," she whispered, pressing a finger to her lips with a conspiratorial smile, asking without words that he not wake the man who lay beside her.

"Your Grace." He bowed.

Then, with another slight inclination of his head, he withdrew with considerably more haste than he had entered. The door clicked softly shut.

Eliza smiled to herself.

Vinnie would no doubt be wondering where on earth her mistress had disappeared to by now. Within the hour, she suspected the household would quietly discover precisely where the Duchess of Buckingham had spent the night.

Eliza turned, intending to sink back into the pillows. She could not believe she had slept in Arthur's bed when she had intended to retreat to her own bedroom. But then she remembered: they had spent a good deal of the evening talking, and sleep must have claimed her.

Heat rushed into her face.

Very cautiously, almost as though he might disappear if she moved too quickly, she lifted one hand. Her fingertips found the linen blanket stretched across his chest. Her hand travelled slowly downward, almost of its own accord, tracing the firm lines of his torso beneath the fabric. She was not entirely certain what compelled her. Curiosity, perhaps? Or perhaps something altogether more dangerous. She had spent weeks convincing herself that Arthur was merely an extraordinarily handsome man.

Her fingers drifted lower still, stopping at his navel. They paused.

She swallowed. Every instinct informed her she ought to stop. Every other instinct urged her onward. The unmistakable evidence of his body's response to her touch strained beneath the covers and did not escape her notice.

Her breath caught. She had scarcely realised her hand had lingered before another hand closed firmly around her wrist.

Not painfully. Decisively.