Her knees quivered as they bent, touching the feathery cushion. She gazed up at him, and the molten approval in those grey eyes made her feel faint with wanting. He unbuttoned his jacket, his manner leisurely while her heart pounded as if she’d run for miles. His waistcoat went the way of his jacket, and he began to work on his shirt. The parting panels of linen revealed the bulging, hairy planes of his chest, the taut stack of muscle below. And below that…she swallowed.
A thick, vertical bar strained the front of his trousers.
It was good that she was kneeling for her knees went utterly weak.
He reached for his waistband, began unbuttoning the fall, his unhurried pace ratcheting up the sensual tension. The wobbly feeling spread from her knees to her center when he took out his cock. By all rights, she ought to be used to his size by now, but she’d never seen his manhood from this angle. It loomed over her, jutting from his open placket like a weighty branch, bobbing under its own weight.
He fisted himself, pumping the veined rod while her palms itched with the memory of how it felt to stroke the velvety skin over the rigid core. She wanted to touch him now, but she had a feeling that he had something else in mind.
“We’re going to work on an exercise to keep your jaw loose,” he said in a conversational tone.
An image flashed, causing a hot quickening between her thighs.
“’Ow?” Her voice sounded throaty.
“You’ll practice by taking my cock in your mouth.” He kept pumping his huge erection, teasing her with it. “Only if you want to, of course. Do you want to, sweeting? Do you want to suck your husband’s cock?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“What a good wife you are. Now open your mouth, and I’ll give you a taste.”
Shivering, she obeyed, and he brought his member to her parted lips. She saw a pearly drop leak from the slit in the tip, glossing the fat head. He laid his cock upon her tongue, and the taste of him, salt and clean male musk, spread through her like a drug. Pleasure and craving swirled in her blood.
“That feels nice,” he said thickly. “Shall we practice having you take more?”
She made a sound, muffled by the heft of his cock, but he seemed to know her answer. Steadying her head with one hand, he guided his hardness deeper into her mouth.
“Keep your jaw as relaxed as you can. That way I can get deeper.” His voice sounded hoarse as she followed his instruction. “God, yes. Just like that.”
He began to thrust slowly, taking her mouth the way he did her pussy. She moaned around his plunging thickness, her hands latching onto his cloth-covered thighs. The reminder that he was still mostly clothed heightened the depravity of what they were doing. She clenched her thighs together, feeling their slickness and her own throbbing need.
“Let go, my sweet Fancy.” His touch was gentle on her jaw, his eyes burning as he drove his prick in deeper and deeper. “I’ll take care of you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know,” she said, her reply garbled by the fleshy pole he fed her.
He seemed to understand, his thrusts becoming harder, heavier. She had the exhilarating feeling that he was as lost in their passion as she was. She managed to relax the hinge of her jaw even more, and he groaned as he went deeper than he ever had. On his next thrust, he nudged her throat, and her eyes watered, her muscles clenching in reflex.
He withdrew, gasping, “God, Fancy, sorry…”
“Don’t stop,” she panted. “I want more. All of you Knight…the way you’ve had all of me.”
His eyes blazed with feral hunger. Then he was inside her mouth again, his big cock moving between her lips, stoking the need in her pussy. All she could taste, smell, feel was her mate.
“I’m going to spend,” he gritted out. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want to take my seed in your mouth.”
She dug her fingers into his thighs, holding on. His muscles turned to rock beneath her fingertips, his hands clenching the back of her head, his hips bucking. She heard him roar her name, then a hot, salty burst drenched her senses. His fingers dug into her scalp as he ejaculated, and she swallowed the scalding shots, taking them as her due. Tremors wracked his strapping frame, and knowing that she had caused them filled her with a heady sense of power.
Chest heaving, he pulled out, and the world spun as he hoisted her off her knees and tossed her onto the bed. She giggled as he crawled over her, then moaned when he entered her with a commanding thrust.
He was hard, throbbing, huge inside her.
“Already?” she gasped.
“For you, wife, I’m always ready,” he said in a guttural voice.
He spent the rest of the night proving his words.
28
The next morning, Fancy awoke alone. She was curled up on her side, facing the empty space that Knight had vacated, his pillow still bearing his musk. Memories of the night washed through her, accompanied by the faint ache of well-used muscles and the twinges of a megrim. Despite the reminders of her excesses, she couldn’t help but smile.
Goodness, her husband was wicked…and insatiable.
Then again, so am I.
As she stretched like a contented kitten, a sweet fragrance wafted to her, and she turned her head toward the table by her bedside. Her heart fluttered when she saw the bouquet of red roses, each bloom large and perfect, arranged in a porcelain vase. Next to them was a small paper packet and a glass of water. Sitting up, she reached for the note propped against the vase and read Knight’s bold scrawl:
My sweet Fancy,
* * *
Please accept the roses as a token of my esteem. The packet contains willow bark and will help with any megrim. I have placed extra guards on duty and informed the family that, for safety’s sake, you must all stay home today.
* * *
See you at supper.
-K
* * *
P.S. I am proud of you. Always. And if you need further help with your lessons, I shall be happy to assist.
Smiling dreamily, she plucked a flower from the bunch, the de-thorned stem smooth between her fingertips. She brushed the silky petals against her nose, inhaling the delicate scent and reveling in her husband’s gesture. The note and flowers were so Knight: thoughtful, sensually teasing, and gallantly protective.
Even if some mysterious villain wanted to harm her, she felt safe…because of Knight. Because, with him, she’d found her place of belonging. She had fallen in love with him, her prince who gave her a home and made her feel special. An image flashed of their future together: they would have darkly handsome boys who Knight could teach to be gentlemen and successful men of business, pretty girls to whom she could impart the skills of being a lady and a tinker.
Confidence and clarity bolstered her resolve. Her plan to make herself over into a duchess was working, but there was more to be done. Now that she had admitted the truth of her own heart, she could not settle for anything less than Knight’s love. Princess Adelaide’s soiree was in a few days. If Fancy could pull off a dazzling debut as the Duchess of Knighton, then maybe Knight would finally kiss her. In that magical moment, she would know she had his whole heart.
With all that in mind, Fancy did not want to waste a single moment of the day. After taking the willow bark powder, she breakfasted, dressed, and threw herself into her daily tasks.
She didn’t know whether it was her positive attitude or Knight’s “lesson” that was the cause, but her session with Mr. Stanton went exceptionally well. When her tutor exclaimed over her progress with h’s, commenting that she must be doing the oral exercises he’d prescribed, her cheeks flamed. She was, nonetheless, thrilled with her success.
The improvements extended into her time with Aunt Esther, who was astounded when Fancy managed to recite by heart several distinguished family trees from Debrett’s and walked the length of the library with three books balanced upon her head.
The triumphs continued into luncheon. Instead of strained silence, conversation
reigned over the table. It was led by Toby, who was over the moon about Knight’s promise to get him a puppy. He also chatted about the tricks he was teaching Bertrand. Eleanor, who’d been joining him and Fancy on their visits to the stables, agreed that Bertrand was a creature of singular intellect. She had decided that donkeys were vastly underrated due to commonly held prejudices against them.
To that end, Eleanor had started a club called The Society for the Equalization and Protection of the Rights of Asses, with Toby acting as Club Secretary and Fancy as Treasurer. The girl had even managed to rope Aunt Esther into being a member. Her aunt had agreed to join on one condition: Eleanor was not to bring books to the dining table.
A masterful stroke, Fancy thought admiringly.
Unfortunately, less progress was being made with Knight’s older siblings. Jonas, Fancy noted, acted bored throughout the meal and drank too much wine. To draw him into the conversation, Fancy asked him about his interests and possible professions he might like to pursue.
“A gentleman doesn’t work,” he said, aghast. “Unless it is an absolute necessity.”
“Knight does,” she pointed out.
“Well, my dear brother isn’t exactly a gentleman, is he?” Jonas said, sipping his wine.
“You will take that back.” Fancy scowled at him. “Knight is the definition of a gentleman.”
“No need to fly into the boughs.” Jonas set down his glass, his expression turning wary. “I only meant that he’s not a conventional sort of gent. Sons of dukes aren’t usually raised in London’s rookeries, nor do they own factories.”
“You ought to be proud that your brother made his own fortune.” Fancy wasn’t going to allow him—or anyone—to disparage her husband. “And perhaps if you found something to occupy your time, you would be less inclined to waste it on frivolous pursuits. Idle hands are the devil’s work, my da always says.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Jonas muttered, pushing a drooping wave of hair out of his eyes. “Ain’t much for a well-bred bastard to do but frivolous pursuits.”
Despite the lad’s defiant posturing, which all of her brothers had adopted at one time or another, Fancy heard his underlying insecurity. Like Knight, Jonas was the son of a duke, but he’d been born on the wrong side of the blanket. And that could not be easy.
Gentling her tone, she said, “It wouldn’t hurt to try to find something useful to do.” A kernel of an idea sprouted. “Why don’t you ask Knight to show you one of his manufactories? Maybe he could teach you about his business.”
“I’ve no interest in becoming a businessman.” Jonas gripped his wine glass, saying with a slight sneer, “Besides, Knighton thinks he’s better than the rest of us bastards. To him, I’m just a wastrel and an unwanted obligation. He ain’t got time for the likes of me. For any of us.”
“You have got the right of it, Jonas,” Cecily cut in.
Fancy stifled a sigh. It figured that when Cecily joined in, it would be to support a rebellion.
“Knighton just wants to sweep us under the carpet,” the girl claimed with a dramatic wave of her arm. “To him, we are less than dirt.”
“You two would be wise to show more gratitude.” Aunt Esther’s gaze slitted. “A lesser man than Knighton would not have taken on the responsibilities your papa left behind.”
“That’s true,” Toby piped up. “If not for Knighton, we would still be trapped in that musty old chateau with only that horrid governess for company.”
“Mademoiselle Grigeaux.” Eleanor shuddered. “I do not miss her canings, that’s for certain.”
The girl’s revelation distracted Fancy from the war with the older siblings.
“Your governess beat you?” Fancy asked, horrified.
When Toby and Eleanor nodded their heads solemnly, Fancy’s throat cinched. The poor dears. They needed Knight and her more than she had even known.
“No one is ever hurting you again,” she said with fierce conviction. “If anyone dares to try, you come directly to me. Or to Knight. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Fancy,” the children chorused.
Brow furrowed, Jonas said, “You never told me old Grigeaux caned you.”
“You weren’t there,” Eleanor said in no-nonsense tones. “You had your own separate wing, and you were busy with your tarts.”
“Young girls do not speak of tarts,” Aunt Esther reprimanded.
Eleanor turned her bespectacled gaze to the dessert tray. “What about strawberry tarts? Or treacle tarts? Or lemon tarts—”
“The edible kind are allowed,” Aunt Esther amended with a sigh.
She aimed a look at Fancy, as if to say, See what I have been managing, gel?
Fancy gave a reassuring nod back.
“I, for one, miss our lovely chateau in France,” Cecily carried on. When it came to complaints, she was like a dog with a bone. “At least there I was allowed to have friends. Here, thanks to whatever trouble is following Fancy, I am a prisoner in my own house!”
“It is only temporary.” Fancy clung to her patience. “Until Knight puts a stop to the threat.”
“That could take forever.” Bright spots stood out on Cecily’s cheeks as she rose in a theatric swish. “I will be a spinster by the time I’m allowed to leave this gaol!”
She flounced off in a manner that Fancy was finding increasingly tiresome.
Thus, Fancy was more than ready to see Tessa and Gabby’s friendly faces when they arrived later that afternoon for their promised visit. While Aunt Esther had been less than enthusiastic about meeting Fancy’s new friends, who according to her were “not good ton,” her tune changed considerably when she saw the beautiful cinnamon-haired lady Tessa and Gabby brought with them.
“Your Grace,” Aunt Esther said with a curtsy.
“How lovely to see you again, Lady Brambley,” the Duchess of Ranelagh and Somerville said in pleasant tones. “I hope you do not mind my arriving uninvited. But Mrs. Kent and Mrs. Garrity spoke so glowingly of the Duchess of Knighton that I could not wait to meet her.”
The duchess smiled warmly at Fancy, who smiled back. The other had a straightforward and unfussy manner that put her at ease.
“It is an honor to receive you, Your Grace.” Aunt Esther gestured for everyone to sit, and Fancy poured out the tea. “And a welcome opportunity for Francesca to meet some of her peers. As she is new to London, we are giving her some polish before introducing her officially to Society.”
“I know a thing or two about polish.” The Duchess of Ranelagh and Somerville’s tip-tilted emerald eyes shone with amusement. “Since my marriage, I have had quite a few layers lacquered on myself.”
“Truly, Your Grace?” Fancy asked, fascinated.
She found it hard to believe that this poised, confident duchess had needed refinement. The lady was a vision of flawlessness in her flounced russet carriage dress with Bishop’s sleeves.
“Do call me Maggie. And, yes, it was no small feat to transform the proprietress of a Dorset fossils shop into a duchess.” The lady sipped her tea, her eyes rueful. “But I was determined, you see, to be the duchess my husband deserved.”
Fancy understood that feeling wholeheartedly. The fact that Maggie had started off with less than noble origins and ended up a celebrated pillar of society buoyed Fancy’s hopes.
“I don’t know why you were worried, Maggie. Your husband adores you: he would have married you if you were wearing a flour sack and talking cant.” Dressed in a maroon promenade gown styled à la militaire, Tessa polished off a biscuit and addressed the rest of the group. “You should have seen the way Ransom—the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville, that is—proposed to her. I am not one for grand romantic gestures, but even my heart went pitter-patter.”
Maggie blushed.
“We asked Maggie to come with us today, not only because we wanted the two of you to meet,” Gabby said, her blue eyes earnest, “but because we thought she could help.”
Fancy looked dubiously at the se
rene duchess. “That is very kind of you all, but I wouldn’t want to involve Maggie, or any of you, in what could prove to be dangerous business.”
“Danger is my business,” Tessa said smartly. “But we’ll get to that in a moment.”
“When you told us that you wished to become a lady of fashion, we thought immediately of Maggie,” Gabby explained. “She does not just know style, she sets it.”
“I am more than a fashion plate, you know,” Maggie said with a touch of wryness. “As you’ll recall, I’ve had my share of perilous adventures. But, yes, I would like to assist in your venture, Fancy, in any way that I can. In fact, I’m holding a small fête in three days and would be honored if you and Knighton would be my guests of honor.”
“Oh…thank you.” Fancy glanced at Aunt Esther, who gave a fervent nod. “We would like that.”
“Lovely,” Maggie said, beaming. “Lady Brambley, I hope you will join us. And I understand Knighton has siblings who are, ahem, newly arrived from France. They are welcome as well.”
Fancy admired Maggie’s delicacy. The duchess was implying that she knew the illegitimate status of Knight’s brothers and sisters and would still receive them. Having Maggie’s stamp of approval would no doubt give the campaign to launch Jonas and Cecily into Society a much-needed boost.
Fancy knew she had interpreted the situation correctly when Aunt Esther said with gruff gratitude, “You are very kind, Your Grace.”
After a bit more chitchat, Aunt Esther excused herself, leaving Fancy alone with her friends.
“Now that we are done with the fashionable talk,” Tessa declared, “onto more pressing matters. Fancy, do you have the note and christening gown you mentioned?”
“Yes.” Fancy retrieved the objects from a nearby table, where she’d set them earlier. “Here they are.”
They all gathered around as Tessa started with the note.
The Return of the Duke Page 23
