Page 17 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
He did not know how much time he spent there, watching the crackling fire, when he heard a whimper behind him.
He stood up immediately and found Lady Eleanor still asleep, stirring through a dream.
He approached the bed quietly. It was clear she was cold; her body quivered beneath the sheets, her teeth chattering as though she was crawling through a snowstorm. Nonsense spilled past her lips, and his heart clenched at the sight.
He looked around the room for more covers to warm her, but he found none.
He slipped out of the room and went downstairs, but the inn was dark.
Sighing, Spencer returned to the room. Lady Eleanor was still sleeping and shaking like a leaf.
With no other choice, he slipped into the bed beside her, careful not to touch too much of her body but remaining close enough to share his warmth.
It was nothing more than sharing his body heat with her.
Lady Eleanor, still lost in slumber, shifted closer in her sleep. Her cold knees brushed against his thigh as she curled inward, seeking warmth. He felt a slight swelling beneath her skin—another wound he hadn’t noticed.
Heavens, what did they do to her in that place?
A moment later, her cold hands grazed his chest before she tucked them between her arms.
Spencer stiffened, his instinct urging him to inch away. But he didn’t. After a beat, he exhaled and relaxed against the pillows. She needed warmth, not distance.
Sleep found him soon after.
Chapter Five
“Mmm,” Eleanor hummed as she slowly woke up the following morning, warm and comfy for the first time in three long years.
Part of her thought she still was dreaming: her bed at the convent had never been this soft. The mattress was firm and warm beneath her cheek… until it moved, rising and falling steadily.
Her eyes flew open.
She was lying on the Duke of Everdawn’s chest. His very bare, very hard chest.
And their legs were tangled.
Eleanor yelped and wrenched herself away from him, tumbling to the edge of the bed. His strong arm caught her before she fell,and she marveled at the strength of his muscles, the broadness of his biceps.
He cracked one eye open, looking at her. “If you fall again, I am not catching you,” he grumbled, releasing her long enough for her to get her bearings.
She sat up, pulling the blankets up to her chin, but that only exposed more of him. A thick thigh was visible beneath the edge of the blanket, as if artfully draped for a painting, even clad in breeches.
A flush bloomed across her cheeks and spread to her neck.
“Why—why are you there!” It was not quite a question as much as an exclamation.
The Duke sighed, turning onto his side, but that only drew her eyes to his biceps once again. She averted her gaze.
Heavens, what had she gotten herself into?
If this had happened three years ago, she would have jumped out of the window from shame.
“You would not stop shivering,” he explained, sounding most comfortable, his voice rough with sleep. “Your teeth were chattering loud enough to wake up every guest in this inn.”
Eleanor scowled in silence long enough for him to open both eyes reluctantly, as if he were fully intent on going back to sleep.
“How are you so comfortable sleeping next to a stranger?” she scoffed.
