“Are you wet for me?” he asked.
She gave a shy nod.
“Show me.”
She blinked at him.
“Touch your cunny, sweet,” he said thickly. “Show me how ready you are for my cock.”
Her lips parted on a shocked breath, and he wondered if he’d pushed her too far. If he’d revealed too much of his bestial nature. Then her hand crept bashfully downward, and his heart drummed as her fingertips brushed her dark nest. She touched herself furtively, dipping a fingertip into the top of her slit, her bottom lip catching beneath her teeth.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
Lust seared him at the sight of her finger glistening with her dew. His erection swelled, testing the limits of his grip. He brought his weeping cockhead to her tender opening, and when she would have moved her hand, he stopped her.
“Keep petting yourself,” he grated out.
He pushed inside, watching with animal greed as his thick shaft spread his wife’s pretty pink folds. She was watching too—and feeling his penetration not just with her pussy but with her fingers. Obeying his instruction, she was petting herself, rubbing her pearl, her fingertips brushing over his invading rod.
Feeling her delicate touch as he debauched her was too much. With a growl, he slammed his hips, burying himself fully. Pleasure blazed up his spine at the exquisite constriction. His wife’s hot, wet hole was bloody made for his cock. Gripping her hips, he plowed her with bestial urgency, with desperate need he couldn’t contain. Her sweet moans accompanied the hard slaps of his thighs as he pounded into her, her back thumping against the mirror.
Feeling the pressure in his stones, he gritted out, “Rub your pearl harder, Fancy. Spend on my cock like a good little wife.”
His words seemed to electrify her. Her beautiful eyes widened, her legs tightening around him, her fingers swirling in a frantic rhythm. Moments later, she cried out, her rippling climax drawing forth his own. With a shout, he surged into her, his neck arching as he spent in lavish bursts.
Thrusting languidly, he gazed into Fancy’s flushed face. Bliss thrummed in his veins along with a feeling he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Contentment, maybe. Not a man to linger over sentiment, especially when he was still inside his wife, he leaned in to kiss her forehead. As he moved, his cock burrowed deeper inside her snug sheath, and her responding clench had an instant stiffening effect on him.
He raised his eyebrows. “Again?”
A shy yet sultry smile tucked into her cheeks. “Yes, please.”
He was amazed by his renewed hunger. By all rights, he ought to have been sated. But the sweetness of her expression and the lush hold of her pussy were too much to resist.
“You’re going to kill me,” he murmured.
Then he set about finding le petit mort with his wife once more.
23
Fancy awoke with a dreamy feeling. That feeling grew when she realized that her cheek was tucked against her husband’s chest. Memories of their passion enveloped her, and her lips curved.
Knight had liked her nightgown. Her efforts at becoming a lady were succeeding. Her marriage was once again on track, and last night had been a heady reminder of what a passionate, tender, and virile lover her husband could be.
A happy sigh in her heart, she was content to enjoy the view. She loved her husband’s body, the taut bulges of muscle, the virile covering of hair. She even liked that scar near his heart because it showed that he was a warrior who could survive the toughest of battles. Her gaze veered downward past his ridged belly. The blanket was draped over his hips, cutting off her view of his superb form…but not entirely.
Her eyes widened. Over her husband’s groin, the blanket was unmistakably tented.
“Keep looking, and it is liable to get bigger,” Knight’s amused voice rumbled.
She tilted her head back to meet his alert grey eyes. “You’re awake?”
“I have been for a while. I was watching you sleep.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t certain how she felt about that. “Was I, um, drooling?”
“No. Although you were snoring a little… I’m only teasing,” he said, correctly interpreting her look of horror. “You were adorable as always.”
“That’s, um, nice o’ you to say.”
She sat up, keeping the sheet up over her breasts. She ran her fingers through her hair, relieved that she didn’t encounter any bird’s nests.
“I’m saying it because it’s true. You are adorable.” A line deepened between his brows, and his voice had a stark quality as he sat up next to her. “If I’ve given you cause to doubt that, then the fault is mine.”
“You ’aven’t done anything,” she said quickly.
“Haven’t I?” A pause. Then, “I owe you an apology, Fancy.”
Seeing the brooding intensity enter his eyes, she had a sinking feeling. “What for?”
“I haven’t been myself since seeing Imogen.”
Her throat cinched at his blunt statement, which confirmed her suspicions.
He dragged a hand through his hair, his biceps bunching. “I know I’ve been…distant. Although you haven’t asked, I want to explain what happened. Not that anything happened,” he said hastily. “You do know that, don’t you?”
“I know you wouldn’t betray your vows,” she said quietly.
“Thank you, sweeting.”
“But Imogen…” She hesitated.
“Ask whatever you want, Fancy. You are my wife and have a right to know.”
“She didn’t ’ave something in ’er eye, did she?”
“She did not.” Grooves lined his brow as he said, “It was stupid of me to make that excuse; I don’t know why I did. It just…came out.”
“Maybe you were flustered over ’er tears?” she ventured.
“I don’t get flustered.” He looked disgruntled. “I was, however, taken aback by her unexpected arrival. I had written her, just a brief note informing her that you and I had wed.” He gave her a direct look. “Given our history, it seemed the right thing to do.”
She nodded, although her heart lurched at the knowledge that her husband had written to his former sweetheart. “Why was she crying?”
“She was surprised by my marriage,” he said. “Truthfully, she has no cause to be. After I inherited the title, there was no question that I would need a wife to produce heirs and introduce my siblings into society.”
Pain lanced through Fancy, and she lowered her gaze to her hands, which were twisting the coverlet. She didn’t know what to say. How to respond to the fact that the woman her husband loved was hurt by his marriage. Hearing him state so plainly that he married her, Fancy, not out of desire but necessity felt like a blow.
“Not that those were the only reasons I married you.” Frustration threaded Knight’s voice. “Bloody hell, I’m making a hash of this. Fancy, look at me, please.”
She raised her eyes.
“Imogen is in my past, and I am damned lucky that you are my wife and here with me now,” he said with quiet intensity. “I know that you and I didn’t marry under the best of circumstances, but we’re making a go of things, aren’t we?”
A go of things. If he’d married Imogen, would he have described their marriage in those terms? Fancy wondered morosely.
“Are we?” Her voice cracked a little.
“I think so.” He cupped her cheek, his grey eyes as warm as the sky during a summer rain. “I have never wanted a woman the way I want you, Fancy.”
That was something, at least. A balm to soothe the soreness of her heart. Even if he didn’t love her, he desired her physically, and according to him, more than any woman he’d known.
More than Imogen? The question popped into her head; she wasn’t ready to know the answer.
“I’m sorry I have not been attentive these past few days,” he went on. “Will you forgive me?”
It was not in her nature to hold onto hurt. Knight had apologized and explained things, and
he’d been honest about Imogen from the start. Fancy couldn’t expect his feelings to change overnight; she had to give their marriage time to grow and blossom.
She nodded, ready to move on.
The tension eased from his features, a smile reaching his eyes. “Tell me what you have been up to, sweeting. I know you’ve been busy. Aunt Esther has been singing your praises to me.”
“Really?” she said in surprise.
His lips quirked. “She said, and I quote, there’s no lack of effort on the gel’s part. She is determined to become a proper duchess and to do you and the family name proud. Trust me, coming from Esther that is the highest of accolades. And she is tickled that you managed to wrangle an invitation to Princess Adelaide of Hessenstein’s salon.”
“Aunt Esther ’as been a good mentor to me. ’Er bark is worse than ’er bite, and I think she’s ’appy to ’ave something to do,” Fancy mused. “It must ’ave been lonely for ’er until you and your siblings came along and gave ’er a family.”
“We hardly qualify as a family,” Knight said dryly. “We are more like strangers stuck at an interminable house party with no hope of escape.”
Fancy had to grin at the description, which wasn’t far from the truth. Yet hearing his unspoken longing, she wanted to encourage him.
“I thought everyone was on better behavior at supper last night,” she said diplomatically.
“Because you, chérie, think the best of everyone.” He brushed his finger along her nose. “In reality, Cecily was sulking, Jonas drinking excessively, and Eleanor reading the book she had hidden beneath her napkin.”
“Toby was sociable,” she pointed out.
“And nearly hit you in the face with an oyster,” Knight muttered.
“Not on purpose,” she countered. “’E apologized for it.”
“The boy is a walking disaster.”
“Don’t lose ’eart in your family,” Fancy said earnestly. “They’ll come around. Why, if I can change into a duchess, then surely your siblings can learn to behave better.”
And I’ll ’elp them, she thought determinedly. They’re my family now, too.
For better or worse, family stuck together.
“Don’t change too much, my dear,” Knight said softly. “I like you the way you are.”
His tender words caused her heart to constrict with hope. “I like you too.”
“I don’t know what I did to get myself such a good little wife,” he said huskily. “Which reminds me…I have something for you.”
He left the bed, striding over to pick up his dressing gown. She couldn’t help but stare at his backside, the taut curves and hollowed grooves of his arse, the flexing muscles of his back. When he headed back toward her, his virility arrested her breath. Even at rest, his male equipment was weighty, swaying heavily between his corded thighs.
“This is for you,” he said. “Unless there is something else you would like, my sweet?”
She’d been so busy ogling him that she hadn’t noticed that he was holding out a black velvet box tied with a silver ribbon. His knowing expression told her that he’d caught her staring at him, and he didn’t mind one bit.
Blushing, she took the box. “Thank you.”
He looked amused as he settled on the mattress beside her. “You haven’t opened it yet.”
“I don’t ’ave to open it to know that it was thoughtful o’ you to get me a gift.”
“Will you stop being sweet long enough to open the damned thing?”
The warmth in his eyes told her he was teasing. Dutifully, she untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. There was another box inside, this one made of silver. Taking it out, she opened it, and her breath lodged.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
She couldn’t reply. Couldn’t get the words out as she stared at the ring nestled in white satin.
The center stone was a flawless ruby the size of her thumbnail. A halo of diamonds surrounded the blood-red gem. The combination of fire and ice was utterly breathtaking.
“Here, try it on.” Taking the ring, Knight lifted her hand and slipped it onto her finger: it fit perfectly above her wedding band. “That looks nice, don’t you think?”
“It’s more than nice.” Her voice wasn’t quite steady. “Knight…it’s the most splendid thing anyone has given me.”
“Well, it is no tinker’s friend, but I am glad you like it.” Smiling, he stroked his thumb over the stacked rings. “When I saw the ruby, I was reminded of you.”
“You were?” She couldn’t see what she had in common with this precious jewel. “Why?”
“For starters, your price is beyond rubies.”
“Oh, Knight.” Her heart hiccupped at his gallantry.
“Then there’s the color of the ruby. At first, I was looking for something to match your eyes but they are peerless, I’m afraid. No jewel can capture their velvety warmth.”
If she were the swooning type, she would have swooned then and there.
“So I decided to match the gem to something else instead,” he went on.
Tilting her head, she gave him a dreamy look. “What did you match it to?”
“Your pretty mouth.” He rubbed his thumb along her bottom lip. “And your lovely nipples.”
She blinked. “You bought me a ring to match my nipples?”
“The most beautiful nipples I’ve seen.”
He tugged down her sheet. Lifting her left hand, he positioned it on her left breast so that her nipple rose proudly between her ring and middle fingers. The stiff bud and the gem were indeed of a similar hue.
His gaze molten, he said, “See? A perfect match.”
“That’s wicked,” she sputtered.
“It is rather.”
He tumbled her backward onto the mattress. She gasped at the filling thrust of his manhood, the long, proud heat of him drilling into her core. Of their own accord, her hips arched for more.
A devilish smile lit his eyes.
“Lucky for me,” he murmured, “I have a sweet, accommodating wife who doesn’t mind a bit of wicked.”
24
After Fancy accommodated her husband not once but twice, Knight left for his office. He’d promised to be back for supper and, with that irresistibly wicked glint in his eyes, told her to expect him afterward. Then he went on with his day and Fancy went on with hers.
After Fancy ate her breakfast on a tray, Gemma helped her don one of the latest items Madame Rousseau had sent. The visiting dress of peach silk had a long bodice, narrow sleeves, and skirts that flared in an elegant dome. The crisscrossed bodice was ornamented with ruched ribbon of paler peach, the ruching repeated on the double tiers of the skirts.
Fancy adored her new dress. Not only was it the most stylish frock she’d ever owned, but the modiste had granted her request as well: there were hidden pockets in the skirts. Stashing her tinker’s friend and Knight’s old button, which she carried around as a secret good luck token, Fancy put on her new ruby ring, squared her shoulders, and descended to her lessons.
Her mornings were split between classes with her dancing master, Maestro Agostino and her elocution master, Mr. Stanton. Her hour with the former passed quickly for she enjoyed dancing and, to her instructor’s delight, had no trouble learning the steps to the more formal dances that had not been in her repertoire.
Her time with Mr. Stanton, however, required more concentration and effort.
“Today we are focusing on the letter H.” The teacher, who had a ring of hair around his gleaming pate, stood before a chalkboard with a pointer in hand. “I’ll read first, Your Grace.”
He read the lines he’d written, his pointer following the words:
Does Harry Hunt hunt heavy hares? If Harry Hunt hunts heavy hares, then where are the heavy hares Harry Hunt hunts?
“Your Grace?” Mr. Stanton asked.
“In ’Arry ’Unt’s belly?” Fancy guessed.
Mr. Stanton frowned. “I meant it is your turn, Your Grace. To
repeat the phrase.”
“Oh, I see.” Clearing her throat, Fancy followed the crisp movement of Mr. Stanton’s pointer as it went from word to word. “Does ’Arry ’Unt…hunt ’eavy…heavy ’ares? If ’Arry ’Unt ’unts…hunts…heavy ’ares, then where are the heavy ’ares ’Arry ’Unt hunts?”
She peered hopefully at her teacher.
He sighed. “Again, if you please.”
By the time the lesson was over, poor Mr. Stanton looked ready to tear out what little hair he had left, and Fancy wished she’d never heard of Harry Hunt and his fat rabbits. Luckily, it was time for luncheon; she was starved and ready for a break.
She arrived at the cavernous dining room to see Aunt Esther already seated at one end of the long table. The lady wore her customary black and an impatient expression. The only other setting on the table was to the right of her.
“You and I will be taking lunch without the others in order to minimize distractions,” Aunt Esther said crisply. “Today I will be covering the fundamentals of proper dining. I have asked Harvey to set our places for a formal supper. Don’t dawdle, Francesca. Come have a seat next to me.”
Fancy obediently headed to the chair, halting halfway at Aunt Esther’s command.
“No, gel, don’t rush about like a milk maid. You are a duchess; walk like one.”
“’Ow…how does a duchess walk?” Fancy asked.
“At her own pace, to begin with. As you are not a puppy, you do not need to scamper at anyone’s command. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Aunt Esther.”
Fancy took a cautious step forward on the parqueted floor, freezing when Aunt Esther snapped out another order.
“No, no. Are you carrying something heavy, gel?”
Fancy gave the other a puzzled look. “I don’t think so.”
“Then why are your shoulders slumped forward? After lunch, you shall practice proper posture by walking with a book balanced upon your head,” Aunt Esther said decisively. “When I was your age, I could walk up and down stairs balancing all of Shakespeare’s tragedies.”
The Return of the Duke Page 19
