“These are perfect,” he breathed, gently squeezing the soft mound. “You are perfect.”
Afterward, as they lay tangled in the sheets once more, Charles pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “I’ll fetch your leg now, if you still wish to leave.”
She watched as he rose, moving across the room with a confident grace, unashamed of his nakedness.
“Thank you,” she said softly as he returned to the bed, her prosthetic held with reverence in his hands, with the same careful attention he’d shown to her body.
“Would you like privacy?” he asked, setting it beside her.
She considered for a moment, then shook her head. “No. You’ve seen all of me now.”
A smile touched his lips, warm and genuine. “So I have.” He moved back, giving her space. “And I find myself wanting to see more.”
His words, filled with pride and acceptance, warmed her heart.
“Seven o’clock?” he asked as she rose and tested her balance.
“For the fencing lesson?” she clarified, reaching for her discarded chemise, her movements deliberately unhurried, though her pulse hammered in her ears as his gaze followed her every movement.
“Unless you have other, more… persuasive… plans for us,” he replied, his voice a low, suggestive murmur, his eyes alight with a teasing gleam.
Despite her best efforts, Amelia felt her lips curve into a smile, a flicker of warmth spreading through her at his audacity. “I admire your self-assurance, my lord, but I still prefer the fencing lessons… for now.” She gathered her clothes, deliberately avoiding his gaze. “Seven o’clock it is.”
His laughter, warm and resonant, echoed in his chamber as she slipped away to her own room. Once inside, she leaned back againstthe cool surface of the connecting door, closing her eyes and taking a slow, steadying breath.
*
Hereford lay still,savoring the lingering warmth where Amelia’s body had pressed against his, the scent of her hair still clinging to his pillow. A bone-deep satisfaction coursed through him—not merely physical, though God knew that had been extraordinary, but something far more profound. She was his now, truly his, in ways that transcended their original arrangement. Yet even as contentment settled over him like a warm blanket, unease prickled at the edges of his mind. This fierce, brilliant woman who had just surrendered so completely in his arms was the same one who prowled London’s darkest corners without a thought for her safety, who demanded sword lessons with the determination of a warrior. The very qualities that made her magnificent—her courage, her relentless pursuit of justice, her refusal to be caged by Society’s expectations—were precisely what would drive him to distraction with worry. How did one protect a woman who saw protection as imprisonment?
A soft knock interrupted his reverie.
“Enter,” he called, assuming it was Amelia returning for something forgotten.
Instead, Barker appeared with fresh linens draped over his arm, his expression studiously neutral as he surveyed the thoroughly disheveled state of the bed.
“Good evening, my lord. I trust your… negotiations… with her ladyship concluded satisfactorily?”
Hereford felt heat creep up his neck. “Barker—”
“Quite right, my lord. No need for details.” Barker began efficiently stripping the bed linens, forcing Hereford to leap from the bed while hastily wrapping himself in the nearest blanket. “I feel compelled tomention,” Barker continued with perfect composure, as though he hadn’t just displaced his master from comfort, “that Mrs. Hudson has taken the liberty of having the connecting door hinges oiled. Apparently, they’ve developed quite a persistent squeak.”
“How thoughtful of her,” Hereford managed.
“Indeed. She’s remarkably practical about such matters.” Barker shook out a fresh sheet with a crisp snap. “She also mentioned that Cook has prepared a rather substantial breakfast for this morning. Something about the importance of maintaining one’s strength.”
Hereford buried his face in his hands. “Does the entire household—?”
“Know that you’ve finally consummated your marriage? I’m afraid subtlety has never been your strongest suit, my lord.” Barker tucked the corners of the sheet with military precision. “Though I must say, the staff is quite pleased. There was a betting pool, you see.”
“A betting pool?”
“Mrs. Hudson wagered on Christmas. Cooper was optimistic about Michaelmas. I, having observed your growing distraction, placed my money on November.” Barker straightened, looking smugly satisfied. “Two pounds richer, as it happens.”
