The Return of the Duke

by Grace Callaway

And neither do I.

  The realization came with a feeling of wonder. Before Fancy, he had rarely stayed the night with a woman. On occasion, he’d fallen asleep with his mistresses, but no cuddling had been involved. Yet since their very first night together, Fancy had fit perfectly in his arms. He had gotten accustomed to falling asleep to the scent of her hair and awakening tangled up with her.

  He led her over to his bed, a giant mahogany tester draped with navy silk hangings.

  “Climb in, chérie.”

  She did, and he followed suit. Tucking her against his side, with her head against his heart, felt like the most natural thing to do. They lay in companionable silence, which was another fine quality his wife possessed. Unlike other women he’d known, she didn’t feel the need to fill the space with nonsensical chatter. She just curled against him as he traced a lazy circle on her shoulder.

  “Your family doesn’t like me,” Fancy announced.

  He stopped his doodling. “That is not true.”

  “Cecily thinks I’m rude and unfashionable. She didn’t even come to supper on account o’ me.”

  “She didn’t come to supper on account of her being a spoiled brat,” he countered. “Besides, if she despises anyone, it is me.”

  Fancy lifted her head to look at him. “Why? She ought to be grateful you are looking after ’er.”

  “As I’ve mentioned, my father did not spend time with his offspring. The rare instances when he bothered to notice them, he indulged them. He did not set rules or guide their behavior.”

  “But you do set rules,” Fancy said slowly.

  “As their guardian, it is my duty,” Severin stated. “They must learn to conduct themselves properly and gain self-discipline. How else will they survive the world?”

  “You’re a good brother,” she said softly.

  He shifted uncomfortably. “I am merely managing the responsibility that was given to me. My family is not like yours. There’s no feeling of kinship binding us.”

  “I disagree. Whether or not they show it, your siblings look up to you, and you care for them in return.” Before he could dispute her, Fancy said, “Who is Jacques? The fellow Cecily mentioned.”

  “Just one of the many ne’er-do-wells that Cecily had sniffing after her back in France,” Severin said in disgust. “She has a penchant for picking up fortune hunters and scoundrels.”

  “Luckily, she ’as you to protect her now. And me as well.”

  He looked at her. “You are going to protect Cecily? After the way she acted?”

  “That is why you needed a duchess, isn’t it?” she returned. “It will be up to me to get your siblings into shipshape. Now I know I ain’t precisely ready myself, but Aunt Esther ’as a plan for me.”

  Amused at her determined expression, he asked, “What plan is that, sweeting?”

  “In a nutshell? She’s going to change everything about me and turn me into a lady.”

  “You don’t need to change. All you need is superficial polish. A few lessons and trips to the modiste.”

  “I’m going to make you proud o’ me,” she vowed.

  “I am proud of you.” He rolled so that he lay atop her, balancing his weight on his arms. Looking into Fancy’s solemn brown eyes, he felt a tug in his chest. “I know what you’re taking on for me, and I…I appreciate it. Appreciate having you by my side.”

  He was mesmerized by the sweetness of her smile. By the feeling that he wasn’t…alone.

  “I appreciate you too,” she whispered.

  Emotion surged over him. He had to tear his gaze away from the temptation of her mouth, instead burying his lips at her throat. She sighed as he kissed her there, his tongue finding the flutter of her pulse. He was already hard, already hungry for her. With an impatient hand, he undid the buttons of her nightgown, and she helped him get the bloody thing off her.

  He paused. By God, he would never tire of seeing his wife naked. He ran a possessive hand over her: her throat, her rounded tits, the dip of her waist and belly. She arched into his touch like a kitten. He cupped her dark silky pussy, massaging the peak of her mound with the heel of his hand. Lust sizzled in his veins when dew coated his palm.

  “You’re ready for me, aren’t you, sweet?” he said thickly. “Nice and wet for my cock.”

  She looked at him with dazed, dark eyes. “Oh, please…”

  “Please what? Rub your little pearl harder like this?”

  When he ground his palm, she whimpered, inciting the beast in him.

  “Maybe you want more,” he said. “Do you, Fancy?”

  “I need you,” she panted. “Whate’er you’ll give me.”

  The same thing she’d said to him that night in the tree. And her surrender had the same effect now as it had then: he felt the gentlemanly shell slipping away from him, giving way to his animal need, his darkest desires.

  He penetrated her with a finger, the hungry clutch of her cunny unleashing a growl from his throat. “You have one finger, sweet. Want another?”

  Her moan was sufficient answer. She gasped, her hips bucking as he stirred two digits inside her. He pumped them and grunted his approval at her squeezing response. His erection butted the front of his robe as he finger-fucked her harder, faster, his palm slapping her pussy the way his balls would soon be doing.

  “Work yourself on my fingers,” he rasped. “Come for me, Fancy.”

  With her plump bottom lip caught beneath her teeth, she obeyed, impaling herself on his driving touch. Her passage began to convulse, a tight, hot rippling that made his cock weep in eagerness. She cried his name as she found her completion.

  He yanked off his robe, notching his burgeoned dome to her entrance. He pushed inside her, and a line of fire shot up his spine as he buried himself fully in his wife’s snug pussy. Driven by pure craving, he plowed her furrow with vigorous thrusts. Her spasms continued, and he didn’t know if she was still coming or coming again. The sound of their colliding flesh was a visceral, maddening pleasure.

  When her convulsions stopped, he withdrew and flipped his startled wife onto her hands and knees. Grasping her by her hips, he entered her from behind. He felt her jolt of surprise, followed by the hot, sucking acceptance of her body. The lewd delight of watching his shaft sink into her pink slit almost finished him off. Shuddering, he dug his fingers into her hips and hilted himself to the root. He did it again and again, egged on by her mewling sounds, by his own need to be as deeply inside her as possible.

  He felt his bollocks tighten, his seed rising. He reached under, finding her pearl, working it as he slammed his cock inside her. She gasped, her fingers bunching the sheets.

  “Spend with me,” he bit out.

  His command came out strangled, but she did it anyway. The squeeze of her pussy demolished the rest of his control. Heat shot from his stones with mind-melting intensity. He drove in, then held, shuddering, filling her with his pleasure.

  Panting, he placed a soft kiss on her nape before pulling her down to lay with him. He had sufficient energy left to tuck the coverlet over them. She snuggled against him, her contented sigh an echo of his own sentiments. Stroking her hair, his legs tangled with hers, he fell into a deep sleep.

  When Fancy awoke the next morning, it took a moment for her to recognize her surroundings. She was in Knight’s bed. He was gone, but his scent still lingered. Smiling dreamily, she rubbed her cheek against his pillow, reliving last night. The steamy passion they’d shared…and more.

  I appreciate you. Having you by my side.

  Happiness trembled through her. Along with trepidation.

  Was she falling in love with Knight?

  She admired him so. For the way he had survived a dark past and yet took care of others without expecting anything return. For the way he made her feel special and wanted. For the way he was a fighter and protector and yet had vulnerabilities of his own.

  Vulnerabilities that she wanted to help him with, the way he was giving her pieces of her dream. But was sh
e setting herself up for pain? The devastation of a broken heart?

  From the start, Knight had told her that he would not love her. He was nothing if not honest. Even though they’d grown closer since that time, she had no right to expect that his view on love would change. Knowing that, she ought to be wise and guard her heart.

  Alas, when am I wise? she thought with a sigh.

  She had never been one to give up on her dreams. But maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe if she succeeded in fixing herself up into a perfect duchess, then he might fall in love with her.

  He liked her already, she thought with burgeoning hope. And he definitely desired her. Each time they made love, she felt closer to him, felt him letting down his guard more and more. Last night, he’d shown a raw side of him she’d never seen before; just thinking of the way he’d rutted her, like a barnyard animal, made her cheeks—and other parts—warm.

  With friendship and passion checked off the list, all she needed was to win Knight’s admiration, the sort he obviously had for Imogen. If Fancy dazzled the ton as the Duchess of Knighton, hostess and sister-in-law extraordinaire, then he would see her in the same way, wouldn’t he? She could win his love after all.

  Brimming with optimism over her new plan, Fancy returned to her room. Winning Knight’s love wasn’t the only important item on her agenda: she was going to see Bea. Because they’d arrived too late last night, Knight had promised to take her first thing.

  Returning to her own chamber, she rang for help, and the maid Mrs. Treadwell had assigned her arrived with a cheery smile and a breakfast tray. After Fancy ate every bite of the coddled eggs and crisp buttered toast (last night had worked up her appetite), she dressed, completed her morning ablutions, and hurried downstairs to find her husband.

  He wasn’t in the breakfast parlor, and one of the footmen said His Grace was with a visitor in the drawing room. Fancy ventured over and heard voices coming from within. Putting on a bright smile—she wanted to make a good first impression on Knight’s guests—she walked through the door and froze.

  Knight was standing by the fire with the most beautiful creature Fancy had ever seen.

  The woman had hair of reddish gold, bound up in swirls and curls that showed off the swan-like perfection of her neck. She was tall, just a few inches shorter than Knight. Her slender, willowy build was draped in an elegant carriage dress of cerulean blue. Her matching pelisse was cinched at her waist with a gold belt, and her slim fingers were encased in pristine white gloves. She was standing close to Knight, clutching a handkerchief, looking up at him with a longing expression that twisted Fancy’s heart.

  When Knight’s gaze jerked to Fancy, the woman also turned, and her azure eyes widened in her sculpted face. The single tear rolling down her cheek enhanced her angelic beauty.

  In a sickening, heart-crushing flash, Fancy knew who the woman was.

  “Fancy, you’re up early.” Knight took a hasty step back from the woman. “This is an old friend, Lady Imogen Cardiff. She, er, had something caught in her eye, and I was just lending her my handkerchief.”

  Fancy’s heart pounded at his gruff explanation, which rang false to her ears.

  “I am so pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Grace, and wish to offer my sincere felicitations on your marriage.” Imogen’s voice was as musical as bells, her curtsy a masterpiece of grace. “And I must apologize for calling at this unfashionable hour. I was running an errand in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by for a quick visit. Knighton being an old family friend, he and I do not usually stand on formality.”

  “You are welcome to visit whene’er you wish, my lady.” Fancy forced the words out. “And it’s a pleasure to meet any friend o’ my ’usband.”

  “You are too kind.” Imogen smiled as if Fancy had done her the greatest favor. “I understand that this is your first trip to London?”

  Fancy looked at Knight, wondering how much information he’d shared about their marriage with his former love. His expression was impassive, but the tense line of his shoulders betrayed his discomfort. In her heart, she trusted him not to betray her: he’d promised to be true, and he was a man of his word. Yet now that he was seeing her and Imogen together, was he comparing them…and finding Fancy lacking? Despair and hot humiliation welled in Fancy’s breast. Why couldn’t she have had some warning, maybe a week or two to prepare?

  What difference would it make? You’ll ne’er match the perfection o’ Lady Imogen Cardiff.

  “Yes, it’s my first time ’ere,” she said dully.

  “Please, call me Imogen. It would be so lovely for us to be friends.”

  For some reason, which could very well be her own jealous heart, Fancy didn’t find the other’s smile convincing. “Then…I’m Fancy.”

  She sounded awkward and ungracious, but Imogen seemed to take no notice.

  “If you need my help with anything at all, Fancy, do not hesitate to ask. I can recommend the most fashionable establishments for ladies of quality,” Imogen said. “Some of these places do have a waiting list, but I would be happy to speak on your behalf. In light of your, ahem, circumstances.”

  Fancy found herself gritting her teeth. Although she wasn’t cultured, she was plenty experienced when it came to being patronized. She would rather wear her pink dress forever than accept the lady’s help.

  “Aunt Esther ’as a plan,” she said curtly. “I’m sure she’ll take care o’ me.”

  “How delightful. Well, I mustn’t take up more of your time,” Imogen said smoothly. “I hope to see you soon?”

  The last was clearly directed at Knight, who gave a short bow. “Thank you for stopping by, my lady.”

  After Imogen departed, leaving a trail of Attar of Roses in her wake, silence blanketed the room. Emotions roiled in Fancy’s breast. They were too confusing and too terrifying to share when her husband had that distant look in his eyes, his jaw taut and body braced. Her passionate, tender lover of the night before had vanished, and she wasn’t sure who the stranger was before her.

  No, she had seen him this way before. That night at the pond. Had he been brooding over Imogen then?

  Unable to bear the silent agony, she said, “I wanted to ask you something.”

  His eyes were wary. “Yes?”

  “You said you would take me to see Bea today. Could we go now?”

  “Of course.” Relief spread over his rugged features. “Will leaving in ten minutes suit you?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll see you then.” He left the room as if the hounds of hell were at his heels.

  Alone, she stared after him, torn between her deepest yearning and the realization of what she was up against if she wanted to win her husband’s heart.

  20

  “I want all the details, my dear,” Bea said the instant Knight and Mr. Murray left the room. “I leave you alone for less than a month, and you become a duchess!”

  Fancy was seated with her bosom chum in the drawing room of Mr. Murray’s townhouse. The carriage ride over had been strained, with Knight continuing to be remote and lost in thought. Upon their arrival, they’d received a surprised but delighted welcome from Bea and Mr. Murray. The pair had wonderful news to share: the villain who’d masterminded the attacks on Bea—and Fancy’s kidnapping—had been defeated and could cause no further trouble.

  The problem with the mobs blaming Bea for the crashing railways stocks was also over. After her harrowing adventures, Bea had discovered that true security lay in the love between her and Mr. Murray and not in a piece of land. She’d decided to sell her property to Great London National Railway; using the proceeds, she would purchase another estate nearby so that her tenants could continue to sustain their livelihoods. Bea and Mr. Murray had also shared the best news of all: in a little over a week, they would be getting married by special license.

  “You’ll be my maid of honor, won’t you, Fancy?” Bea had said.

  In the excitement of catching up on Bea and Mr. Murray’s
news, Fancy and Knight hadn’t yet shared their own. She’d glanced over at her husband, who’d maintained his usual stoicism. He’d lifted his eyebrows as if to say, You might as well tell them.

  Drawing a breath, she’d said to her bosom chum, “I can’t be your maid o’ honor.”

  Bea had furrowed her brow. “Why not?”

  “Because I’d be…your matron o’ honor.”

  “Matron? But you’re not—oh my goodness!” In a heartbeat, Bea had put two and two together. “You and Knighton?”

  “Fancy did me the honor of becoming my wife,” Knight said. “We were married a week ago in Gretna Green.”

  “You sly devil.” Grinning, Mr. Murray had gone over to shake Knight’s hand. “Always the competitive fellow, eh? You had to get to the altar first.”

  “I was not aware that matrimony was a race.” Knight’s tone had been wry, his eyes amused. “In either case, I believe we are both winners.”

  “Very gallant, Your Grace,” Bea said approvingly.

  “He’s just showing off,” Mr. Murray muttered, but there was a good-natured twinkle in his hazel eyes. “This calls for champagne.”

  The celebratory beverage had been brought in, and the four had toasted to the happiness of both couples. Then Bea had suggested rather pointedly that Mr. Murray should offer Knight a cigar in his study.

  “We’re being dismissed, Knighton.” Mr. Murray’s teasing tones had carried as he led his guest out. “Is this what married life will be like, I wonder? We useless husbands being ordered about by our wives?”

  “Speak for yourself.” Knight had cast a look back at Fancy. “I intend to have my uses. I would not give my wife any cause to wonder why she married me.”

  Surprised by the warmth in his eyes, Fancy had blushed.

  Now Knight was gone, and she was facing an inquisitive Bea.

  “It’s a long story,” Fancy began.

  “How long could it possibly be?” Bea arched her fair brows. “You met Knighton less than a month ago. Now you’re married to him. Stop prevaricating, dearest, and tell me all.”