A single lamp on a table next to the bed cast long shadows through the room, and Robert realized that the broad bed was occupied. Lucy urged him forward, but he only took two steps before halting with a start, looking down on the sleeping form of Lady Eloise Surrey.
She lay on her side, one hand tucked under the pillow beneath her head, the other under her chin. Her luxurious brown locks fanned out behind her like waves of satin. She wore only a thin chemise, which clung to her slight form as if it were part of her, emphasizing the firm curves of her breasts, the dip of her narrow waist, the soft mounds of her bottom. A light cotton sheet covered her hips, but he could make out the outlines of her well-shaped calves beneath it.
Robert’s breath stalled in his throat, and his words emerged on a whispered hiss. “What is she doing here?”
Lucy’s words were even softer. “She could barely stand after... what happened. I brought her here to rest but she started crying. She eventually cried herself to sleep.”
“Why? She did not even know Bill.”
Lucy’s expression turned quizzical as she looked at his face. “She was not crying for Bill, you lug-worm. She was crying for you. And her brother.” She pushed at him. “Go to her.”
“She’s sleeping.”
“I was,” came a hoarse voice from the bed. “No longer.” Lady Eloise pushed up on one elbow and looked at them. “You two are the devil’s own when it comes to whispering.”
A quick grin flitted across Lucy’s face, then she pushed at Robert again. “Go.” With that, she slipped out of the room and closed the door.
Robert took one more step, then stopped again, his mind still refusing to accept what he was seeing. “Lady Eloise—”
“Given the circumstances”—her voice was still clogged with sleep—“I suspect we should dispense with formalities.” She held out her hand toward him. “Hold me?”
He closed his eyes against the sight of her, more beautiful and desirable than he could possibly have imagined. “We should not—”
“Please. At this moment, I am beyond propriety. And I would very much like you to hold me.”
He looked at her, then sat uneasily on the edge of the mattress. He touched her shoulder. “Eloise—”
“No,” she whispered. “Take off your boots and trulyholdme.”
After a moment, he shed his boots and stretched out beside her on the bed. His hand trembled as he gently touched her arm, uncertain and tentative.
“Stupid man.” The words carried a passion that startled him as she reached her arms around him and pulled him close. One leg wrapped around his hips and pressed him hard against the length of her body. Her warmth enveloped him, and he buried his face against her neck as she encompassed him in a hug that seemed to involve every muscle, every inch of her skin. The scent of her—flowers and spice—seized him, and something deep inside his soul snapped.
With a raging flood, the emotions he had held at bay swept over him, and the numbness that had frozen him solid shattered. With a low sob, Robert melded against her, his arms circling her, holding her as tightly as she did him. Tears sprang from his eyes, and a second sob shuddered through him. Then another. And another. His entire body shook as they rolled over him in waves.
Eloise held on, her grip relentless. His size dwarfed her, but her strength did not waver as her arms and legs tightened around him. Her fingers kneaded the muscles of his back, and she pressed her cheek against his head as his tears soaked her shoulder, her hair, and the pillow beneath them.
As his sobs eased and he regained his breath, he whispered her name, his lips brushing the side of her neck.
“Shh. Not yet.” One hand raked through his hair, pushing it back from his face as he raised his head to look at her. “You hurt. You loved him. There is no shame in that.”
Robert blinked, then wiped his eyes on his sleeve. The relief that surged through him ran deeper than he would have expected—it was as if his very senses had returned to him. “What are you doing here?”
Eloise squirmed slightly. “Let me up.”
He did, and she leaned toward the table next to the bed, pulling out a drawer and fishing out two handkerchiefs. She handed them to him. “Here. Blow your nose and sit up.”
He did, then dropped the soiled one over the edge of the bed. “I might also ask how you knew there were handkerchiefs in that drawer.”
Eloise smiled. She adjusted the pillows and pressed her back against the head of the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. “Because Lucy pulled out a half dozen for me last night.” She sniffed. “After... what happened... I couldn’t seem to stop crying. It was all too much. You. Bill. Timothy. It felt as if the entire world were collapsing around me. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.”
“I understand, more than you may realize. Everything that could possibly go wrong has. Everything in my life has gone sideways in less than forty-eight hours. I am in a great deal of trouble.” He looked down at the handkerchief clutched in his hand. “Bill was the one thing I counted on never to change. This club felt solid, unchanging.”
“Who will take over now?”
Robert hesitated. He didn’t want to say it, to put words to something he had never envisioned coming to pass, no matter how often he and Bill had discussed it. The potential repercussions against him—and his family—were too enormous to grasp in this moment, in this room.
“Robert?”
