Page 118 of The Duke’s Bargain

Chapter 33

Eliza’s skin buzzed with excitement. Rather like shuffling one’s slippers across a carpet before reaching out to touch someone and receiving that sharp little zap. Except this feeling refused to disappear. It lingered beneath her skin, fizzing quietly as she remembered Arthur’s hands upon her body, his lips against hers and the slow descent of his mouth before he had begun kissing his way along her thigh.

The memory refused to leave her as she was seated in an armchair beside Lieutenant Colonel Radnor's bed. She and Laurence had arranged for the largest bedchamber, aside from Arthur's own, to be prepared for him. It was a beautiful room. A magnificent four-poster bed stood proudly in the centre, while tall windows on three sides allowed afternoon light to flood the room.

Yet somehow none of that light ever seemed to reach the colonel. He lay propped against a mountain of fine pillows, his skin pale, his shattered leg carefully bandaged and elevated. His dark blond hair had begun to grow longer than when he had first arrived, and she had counted more than three dozen grey hairs at his temples.

Weeks confined to bed had stolen much of his strength. His once broad shoulders had narrowed, while his arms and good leg had grown noticeably thinner. She had never truly appreciated how powerfully built Colonel Radnor had been until that strength slowly disappeared.

Arthur had once described him as a shell of the man he had been, and as much as she did not want to admit it, the description fit.

She visited him every three days with unwavering regularity, though each time his eyes remained closed.

"He misses you, you know," she sighed softly, willing her mind away from the memory of Arthur's lips.

She opened the small leather journal she had chosen for him and began absent-mindedly sketching flowers in the margins. She always wrote down what she discussed during her visits. If he woke when she was absent, he would know someone had been there and exactly what he had missed.

"I'm not entirely certain what the masculine rules of friendship are," she continued, "and naturally Arthur would never admit it, but every time he walks past your room his mouth presses into the grumpiest straight line imaginable. I wish you would allow him to visit you. I think..."

She hesitated.

"I think he needs you now more than ever."

No movement. Sometimes she could have sworn he was listening. She knew he was capable of conversation. More than once she had overheard him speaking quietly with Laurence through the half-open door, and every time Laurence had emerged looking just a little more exhausted than when he had entered. Laurence insisted it was merely because he had overstayed his welcome. Apparently, he had never before spent so long at Winworth House, preferring London's endless entertainments to Bedfordshire's peaceful countryside.

The Colonel never opened his eyes for her. Unfortunately for him, she had never required a partner in conversation.

"I think they both need you."

She smiled faintly as she continued sketching.

"You and I have not had the opportunity to become friends the way Lord Benedict and I have over these past few months, but I do believe he is far more troubled than he lets on. He claims he merely misses the company of pretty ladies, but I suspect it is something much deeper."

She looked thoughtfully towards the silent figure on the bed.

"I also think you're the sensible one."

"Laurence is unquestionably the troublesome one. Arthur is..." She paused, considering. "...the frightening one."