I.

As soon as the door is pushed shut behind him, Robert collapses haphazardly on the dressing room bed, his coat askew, his mind a tired jumble of unhelpful thoughts. He must gather himself, ring for Bates, request some ice for his bruising hand – those would be helpful thoughts, surely.

Cora, standing so close to Bricker. The look on her face when he walked in – shock, then shame. A faint memory that he had been glad to get away early, had hoped she would still be awake. And then the imaginary, hypothetical scenes come to him unbidden, and most unwelcome: Bricker inching closer to Cora, that smile that she gives the man when he sits next to her at dinner, the vision of that smile as he leans into her, as his lips brush hers, as he gently peels away the soft orange of her dressing gown, the slightly devilish grin she would inevitably wear, letting him lean her back onto the bed.

These are Robert's true thoughts – they come to him with unsettling ease – and he feels a fool.

An old fool, he thinks bitterly, as he tries to spread the fingers of his right hand. Old, foolish, broken.

II.

It occurs to Cora, as she watches Simon Bricker climb into the car, that Robert had the right of it, all those weeks ago when he had come to London to surprise her.

That an art expert would find your opinions on the work of Piero della Francesca impossible to resist?

She did not imagine it all, though; he was interested, they had talked all afternoon and then through dinner. But his interest did not stop at intellectual curiosity, or even easy friendship, and she fears now that she has been a fool, not to have taken that more seriously.

Robert was right all along. Jealous, spiteful, and – there is no room for anything but bitter honesty this morning, not among her own thoughts – almost cruel, but, in the end, right.

The thought hurts, but only for a moment. Her pride can survive much worse.

Her pride. Inconsequential, easily enough swallowed. Robert's refusal to even look at her as he left for the dressing room comes painfully to mind, and she wonders if the damage to his pride will hurt her infinitely more than being deluded by Simon Bricker ever could.

III.

Robert pauses for a moment, his hand on the doorknob. He knows he will open it, cannot deny that he is well and truly caught out, that there is no justifiable reason that he should not believe Cora, forgive her, move forward.

But he stops, unable to turn the knob, and the images return: Bricker's lips on Cora's slender, elegant neck, his hands slipping under her dressing gown. Robert has never thought himself a particularly fanciful man, and he shakes himself, wishing his imagination would occupy itself so vividly, effectively, with something else, anything else. The new houses to be built in the village, perhaps. Or how to steer Mary in the direction of Tony Gillingham.

She is already sitting in bed – though not entirely comfortably, he thinks – when he walks in, and their eyes meet, silently, for a long moment.

"I'm sorry," he offers, breaking the silence. "If I reacted a bit harshly."

Cora nods. "You believe me, then?" she asks, softly, and he can hear the fear in her question – and see the truth in her eyes.

"Of course I do."

IV.

They fall asleep close together in the middle of the bed, but when Cora wakes with the first light of dawn, her leg is over his, and his hand holds hers on his chest – and then it is the most natural thing in the world, giving his hand a squeeze, burrowing closer when he stirs, pressing her lips to his jawbone as he awakens. His leg shifts against her, and he disentangles his hand in order to slip it across her waist, her back, caressing as he beckons her closer.

In the low light of the early morning, they dance a slow, well-known number – unhurried, comfortable, gentle, full of feeling. She kisses him as he tugs her atop him, she could melt into him, his hands run over her back, waist, thighs. When she is bare against him, his hair between her fingers, her forehead resting on his, she almost says it, almost whispers, I never wanted him like this. Instead, as his grip on her hips tightens, makes her shiver, she kisses him without restraint, does not try to hide the moan when his teeth pull at her bottom lip.

Later, when they wake again, the sun shines brightly through the cracks in the curtains, and they are pressed together, need barely whisper to hear one another.

"I'm sure Bates is wondering what's happened to me."

"Let him wonder." She reaches across him, laces her fingers through his, but the kiss he places on her forehead says that he will get up momentarily.

"I've got to look over some proposals for the new building project. Would you like to come see, after you've had your breakfast?"

She hopes he can tell that she is smiling as she presses her lips to his cheek. "I'd love to."