There was a short, tense silence. Now that Arthur’s jaw was clean-shaven, she could see the muscles leap as he ground his teeth. It was astoundingly attractive. She prayed his whiskers grew quickly. Perhaps she could ask Georgiana to abscond with his razor.
“You can sleep in my chamber,” he said finally. “I’ll exchange with you.”
“If it is safe for you, then surely it is safe for me as well—”
“I knew you were going to say that, damn it.” He glowered at her. “Fine, then. I’ll sleep outside the door in the hall.”
“In the hall?” Her voice rose so precipitously that Arthur looked toward the door as though anticipating a sudden influx of concerned parties.
“’Twould not be the first time I’ve—”
“Slept in the hall?” She put her hands on her hips. “Everyone in the bloody house would hear of it by morning. No. It’s out of the question.”
He gave her another black look. “’Tis the hall in front of your door or of mine. Take your pick.”
She threw up her hands in disgust. “Fine. Fine, then. I’ll sleep in your chamber, but you mustn’t sleep in the hall.”
“I would not compromise your reputation if I can help it—”
She directed her most disbelieving stare in his direction. “Arthur. We are pretending to be married. If anyone discovers my true identity, whether we slept in the same bedroom or not will be immaterial, don’t you think?”
“Christ, woman.” He opened the door and crossed the hall to his own room, gesturing for her to follow. “I thought you were shy and retiring. Not too bloody clever and slippery for your own good.”
She entered his chamber and heard him lock the door behind them both.
A little frisson of… something… went through her at the sound.
They were alone. They were alone, and the bedchamber was locked, and between them was a large, well-appointed, and entirely empty bed.
More. She had wanted more after their abbreviated kiss. And now they were together, and alone, and within sight of a bed. Her mind’s eye went wild—a flame-bright staccato series of limbs intertwined, sweat beading on skin—
“Why did you tell your brother we were married?” Arthur asked.
She blinked up at him, startled out of her erotic haze.
His mouth compressed, his head tilted, and she could not read his expression. “Surely you did not…”
He trailed off, and she hastened to explain herself. “I don’t mean to let him go on thinking it, of course. I would not take advantage of you in that way.”
He coughed.
“Only I feared that if I told him the truth just then, he would be… vexed. There might have been a commotion. A mild fracas, if you will.” She tried not to look too guilty as she peered into Arthur’s face to judge how he was receiving her explanation. “I shall tell him the truth when I return home.”
She had no idea what she would say, but that was a problem for Future Lydia to contend with.
“Grand,” he said. “No doubt he’ll be ecstatic.”
“Ah—”
“When we’re facing each other over pistols, I’ll have to remember to aim low.”
“To, er, wound him only?”
“Because he’s short.”
She laughed despite herself. Arthur’s eyes caught on hers. The room was dim in the candlelight, but she could still make out the gold around his pupil, the spiral of green and blue around it. He almost smiled back before he caught himself and rubbed one hand across the back of his neck.
“Still and all,” he said, “I find myself worried about much more than your brother. There’s more to this situation than we know. I cannot think Davis is here, hiding somewhere and hunting for your letters. Yet there must be a reason someone broke into your room and searched your things. Someone is suspicious.”
