He found her door. He listened with his head close to the wood, but there was no sound from within. After a minute or two of mustering his courage, he tested the door handle, not expecting to find it unlocked, but as he turned it, the door catch released, and the door began to swing inwards. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
Her bedchamber was in total darkness, apart from the remnants of the fire glimmering in the grate. He could hear Rose’s breathing from the bed, the regular, even breathing of someone who was soundly asleep. He should go. He knew that. She had not woken so there was still time to leave before she found out he had had the temerity to enter her bedchamber uninvited again. But he did not want to leave.
He was entranced by the sound of her soft breathing. He reached out and turned the lock on her bedroom door. Whatever happened, he would not risk them being disturbed. She moaned slightly at the click and moved in the bed, but didn’t wake. After the closeness of the afternoon, he felt an undeniable urge to lie with her.
He began removing his clothing. He was only wearing his shirt, breeches, and shoes, so it was easily done. When he was wearing nothing but his drawers, he padded over to stand by the side of the ornate bed. She was lying on her side, facing away from him, with her long hair loose across the pillow. She was wearing a white nightgown, and the counterpane was thrown back, no doubt because of the heat from the fire. Her chest was rising and falling very gently, and her long blond lashes fanned out across the top of her cheeks. She looked so young. He could not remember the last time he had watched her sleeping. He was enchanted.
Very gently, he lifted the bedclothes on his side of the bed and slid beneath the sheets. In one fluid movement, he snaked his arm around her middle, pulled her firmly against him, and buried his face in the hair at the nape of her neck.
She let out a cry of fear and surprise as he clasped her tighter.
“It’s me,” he whispered in her ear.
“Will!” She tried to turn towards him, but he was holding her so tightly against his chest and thighs that she could only move her head. As she craned her neck towards him, her cheek brushed against his lips, and he kissed her.
“What are you thinking?” she asked blearily, but with less protest than he had expected.
“I wanted to hold you,” he whispered. “I just want to feel your body against mine.”
“You’re naked!” she said.
“Not quite,” he replied. “But all the better to feel you with.” He pushed his hips against her bottom. “Sadly, you are not naked enough.”
He moved his hand up from her waist to clasp one full breast in his palm. It felt as heavy as a grapefruit.
“Will,” she moaned, but did not stop him.
“I know,” he whispered. “I need it too.”
He didn’t try to move his hand on her breast, although it took every ounce of his willpower not to. Despite her being wrapped in cotton from neck to toe, he could feel the warmth of her skin burning against his chest and legs.
“Lord, you feel good.”
He nuzzled her neck, but didn’t kiss her. He didn’t dare. Instead, he tucked his feet under her feet, pressed his knees to the back of her knees, and enjoyed the delicious soft roundness of her bottom pressing against the hardest part of him. He felt her push back against him then, accepting him in her bed, and sending a maelstrom of sensations rocketing up into his chest, arms, and head. He put his spare arm above both their heads on the pillow. There was no room for even a slip of paper between them.
“Sleep, Duchess,” he whispered as they lay intertwined, watching the last play of the flames in the grate.
She didn’t relax immediately. She was lying alert in his arms while he was fighting every urge inside himself not to make love to her in the firelight. He knew she was waiting for him to. But slowly, he felt her become limp in his arms as tiredness overcame them both.
Rose woke disorientated. She had slept so deeply. She had dreamed that Will had come to her in the night and held her. She stretched beneath the covers and turned onto her back. It was only then that she saw the indentation in the pillow next to her, with a single pink rose placed in the hollow his head had made. So it had been real! He had taken the rose from the floral display on her dressing table. It was a ‘rose rose,’ as he had called them when they were young. She reached under the covers and was assured she was still wearing her nightgown. She wondered how long before she had awoken he had left. She touched the sheets on his side, and they were still warm. She had to admit that his audacity shocked her; that he would steal into her room in the middle of the night with the Duke under the same roof and so many servants who might see him. But, of course, he had done it before.
There was a sudden knock on her door. For a moment, Rose thought he had come back, but it was Anna who walked into her bedchamber to open the curtains.
“Good morning,” Rose said to her.
"You seem very cheerful, Your Grace. That long sleep must have served you well."
"Very well,” Rose replied, smiling.
She declined breakfast in bed in favor of eating in the dining room downstairs.
“We have a guest staying, a Mr. Browning, so I will take breakfast with him,” she explained.
“Oh, you can’t, Your Grace.”
“Why ever not?”
“He has left already.”