The Return of the Duke
Page 30
“You told me from the start that love was risky,” she recalled.
“Yes, and you are worth any risk.” The awe in his expression clogged her throat. “You have been my helpmate at home and at work. You’ve listened to me, supported me, made me feel that I am not alone. Hell, you’ve somehow patched things up with my family, a feat I didn’t think was possible.”
“I love your family,” she said.
“Do you think you could love me again?” His tentativeness swelled her heart. “I swear to you that what I feel for Imogen is just friendship. Gratitude for the time when she was my only friend. And I swear also that I won’t disrespect you or treat you shoddily in—or out—of bed again.”
“It wasn’t all bad,” she admitted. “Just the part when you didn’t tell me you loved me back.”
“I love you, Fancy.” He cupped her face in his hands as if she were the last flame guarding him against the darkness of the night. “So much that it terrifies me. Losing you would destroy me, but I’m going to love you anyway because I cannot stop. You are everything I’ve ever wanted, and the only one I’ll want for the rest of my days.”
Well, that was an improvement from the last time.
“I can’t love you again...because I never stopped. I was afraid, too,” she said candidly. “Afraid to ask for what I want, to believe that I deserve a husband like you. But I’m not settling for dishes I hate.”
His brow furrowed. “What do dishes have to do with this?”
“I’ll explain later. Just know that I’m no longer afraid of loving you.”
He let out a shaky breath…and surprised her by getting down on one knee. Joy lifted her heart when he took out her ruby ring. He slid it onto her finger, saying huskily, “Fancy Sheridan Knight, will you be my love forever?”
“Yes.” With a wobbly smile, she used her free hand to pull the string from beneath her bodice, showing him the objects she’d kept close to her heart, even when they’d been apart. “I’ve always been yours, Knight.”
He rose, touching her dangling wedding band and the carved gold button beside it.
A notch between his brows, he said, “Is that one of my buttons?”
“I snipped it from your jacket. The one you lent me that day you found me fishing.” Blushing, she confessed, “I thought that it was all I would ever have of you, and I’ve kept it close ever since.”
“I am yours, Fancy. Heart, body, and soul,” he said with a fervor that vanquished the last of her doubts. “May I have the honor of kissing my bride?”
Smiling tremulously, she tipped her head back in answer, and he brought his lips to hers. The first touch of their mouths was gentle, the fit tender perfection. The feel of her husband, the taste of him, was everything. What she had waited a lifetime for. He courted her with velvet-soft pressure, his lips brushing against hers with drugging sweetness.
In his kiss, she felt his love for her, his devotion and care. Their connection transcended the physical, even the emotional, touching a place that made her spirit sing. Her heart overflowing, she kissed him back with all the love she no longer had to hold back.
Their kiss caught fire, becoming a tangle of lips, tongues, and panted breaths. They kissed until she was clutching him for support, and he was holding them both steady, his chest heaving. She thought that she knew the power of their passion, yet with love as its tinder, their desire blazed to new heights. She saw her wonder reflected in Knight’s gaze.
“Do you want to come back to the camping ground with me?” she whispered.
“I will go anywhere with you.” Love illuminated his eyes, banishing the shadows and ghosts. “Wherever you are, my love, that is where I want to be.”
37
Severin woke up in a sensual daze. It took him a moment to recognize what he was staring at: the ceiling of his carriage where he and Fancy had spent the night. Memories of their passionate reunion flitted through his sleep-clouded brain and evaporated in a haze of disorienting pleasure. He dipped his chin, and what he saw and felt ripped a groan from his chest.
He was lying on a velvet pallet on the floor of the cabin, and his naked duchess had made a place for herself between his thighs. Her delicate fingers circled the thick pole of his morning cockstand, her lips a hairsbreadth from the mushroomed tip.
“Good morning,” she whispered against his erection.
“It bloody well is,” he said raggedly.
A smile tucked into her cheeks, and she kissed him, butterfly touches up and down his turgid shaft. He wove his fingers into the thick silk of her tresses, enjoying the teasing caresses, arching his hips for more. As always, his wife knew what he needed, and he hissed out a breath when she took him inside her mouth, surrounding him with wet, sucking bliss.
Pleasure drilling down his spine, he watched Fancy’s head bob upon his prick. The pretty, wanton picture she made and the sensations she bestowed upon him drove him mad with desire. He’d made love to her three times last night, yet he was nowhere near sated.
Then again, he had waited a lifetime for his beloved. Was it any surprise that he had so much need stored up for her? Yearning to possess her as completely as she possessed him pounded in his heart, his cock, his very soul.
His wife. His duchess. His.
With a growl of pure need, he sat up, reaching for her. He felt her surprise when he rolled her onto her back, reversing their positions so that he lay atop her, his head hovering over her pussy, his cock poised above her sweet mouth. His own mouth watered at the sight of her dewy pink cleft.
“Together, sweeting,” he rasped.
He buried his face between her downy thighs, felt her jolt as he tongued her, from her pearl all the way to her hidden rosebud. God, but she was delicious. He ate her pussy with ravening hunger, and she drew on his prick with equal fervor. As he plunged his tongue into his duchess’s cunny and his erection into her giving throat, he knew he’d found heaven.
Feeling her lips kiss his balls, he knew this trip through the pearly gates could be a short one. He wanted her to come first. Driving two fingers into her tight sheath, he pumped her while he licked and sucked on her love-knot. She gasped, the sound muffled by her mouthful of cock. Her passage convulsed around his fingers as her honey gushed against his tongue.
He shifted position, putting them face to face. Looking into his wife’s peerless brown eyes, he thrust into her lush hole and growled, “I love you, Fancy.”
Her eyes held him as securely as her body. “I love you, Knight.”
He began to move, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, letting him in even deeper. He took her mouth in a hungry kiss as he pounded into her luxuriant heat, taking everything she offered, giving back the same. When she began to come again, he groaned, overwhelmed by his need and love for her. He blew inside his wife, pleasure turning him inside out as he gave every last drop of himself to her sweet keeping.
He collapsed on his back and cuddled her against his thundering heart.
“Knight?”
He looked into her sated eyes. “Hmm, love?”
“I didn’t know life could be better than a faerie tale.”
His heart full, he said, “It is going to get even better, I promise.”
He kissed her again.
At Knight’s insistence, they stayed for three more days.
Fancy knew that her husband was a busy man, yet he was giving her time with her family because he knew how much they meant to her. He was also making an effort with Da and the boys. Although she had reassured her family that all was well—better than well—in her marriage, they’d understandably remained suspicious of Knight and his intentions.
He had taken it in stride, telling her that he deserved their hostility.
“I was a damned fool,” he told her bluntly. “I deserve to take some licks. You won over my family; now let me win over yours. Don’t fret, I’ll work things out with them.”
Bemused, she watched him “work things out” by helping her Da and broth
ers with their jobs. Without complaint, he, a duke, joined them in clearing trees and fixing fences for a neighboring farmer. He played kickball with her brothers and was so good at it that the boys fought to have him on their team. After supper, he sat on a log around the fire and smoked a pipe with Da. When Fancy joined them, he pulled her onto his lap, holding her close while he and her father swapped stories.
Now that Knight had let her into his heart, he seemed less guarded in general. As they lay in their carriage at night, warm and lax from lovemaking, he told her more about his past…things, he confided, that he’d never told anyone. Hearing about his mama’s slow descent into madness and his painful visits to Bedlam brought tears to Fancy’s eyes.
But there were good stories, too. Memories of the French songs his maman had sung to him, the way she could set a table to look pretty, even if the flowers in the chipped vase had been discards from the market, the tablecloth an old patched bedsheet. As it turned out, his maman had been a good cook, and when she had the money, she would splurge and buy the ingredients to make his favorite almond cakes (Fancy made a mental note to try her hand at recreating the recipe). Fancy was more convinced than ever of his mother’s strength and love. When she told him so, he gave a gruff nod and crushed her against him.
She also shared the story of her mother and the ironstone dishes, and the important lesson she had learned.
“For most of my life, I’ve made do with what has been given to me. I’m good at mending and patching things up, but rarely have I asked for what I wanted,” she admitted. “Even though I knew that I loved you early on, I was afraid to tell you. To ask for your love in return. I should have stood up for my dreams instead of running away. So I am at fault as well.”
“The fault is entirely mine for being an idiot. As to the rest, I want to know what you want,” he said intently. “What you think and feel, your heart’s desires. Everything that is in my power to give you, Fancy…it’s yours. You need only ask.”
The love blazing in his eyes warmed her. Emboldened her. Running her fingertips down the stacked muscles of his torso, she circled his cock. He instantly hardened in her grip.
“As a matter of fact, there is something I desire,” she said, batting her lashes.
His lips curved in a slow, sensual smile. “Let us hope it is in my power to give it to you…again.”
Which, of course, it was. Again and again.
Another evening, Knight told her about Imogen’s abuse at the hands of her husband. Fancy’s lingering resentment toward Imogen gave way to a swell of empathy.
“How dreadful,” she said.
Knight nodded. “I think that was the real reason she approached me at the soiree. She needed someone to talk to, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice her unhappiness and kissed me instead. When I set her aside, she broke down and showed me the bruises beneath her necklace.”
Fancy’s heart hurt for Imogen. She had always thought the lady looked fragile, on the verge of tears. She’d attributed that to Imogen’s unrequited love for Knight, but maybe what the lady really wanted was protection from brutality that no woman should have to face.
“Poor Imogen,” she said softly.
“That is why I couldn’t leave her that night,” Knight said. “No woman should suffer at the hands of her husband.”
“Of course you couldn’t abandon her,” Fancy said. “No man of honor would.”
The lines around his eyes eased. “At the same time, I didn’t want to interfere where it was not my place. I convinced her to talk to her kin, and I accompanied her as a friend.”
“How did it go?” Fancy asked.
“Her brother is handling the matter. If he needs help, he knows where to find me.”
“I am glad Imogen is safe,” she said sincerely.
“So am I.” Knight cupped her jaw, his gaze fierce. “You are the only woman in my heart, the only one who has ever possessed me body and soul. You know that, don’t you?”
“I do now,” she whispered.
Because she finally did.
On the day of departure, Fancy hugged her brothers and father goodbye. It wasn’t too sad of a farewell since they had promised to spend winter in London with her and Knight.
“You take good care of me girl,” Da said to Knight. “Keep an eye on ’er even if that business with the madwoman be over.”
She’d told her family about Anna Smith. Knight had also spoken with Da, assuring the other that the woman was secure and would pose no further threat.
“I will, sir,” Knight said gravely.
“You, me Fancy, be a good wife and ’elpmate, you ’ear?”
“Yes, Da.” She kissed his cheek above his beard.
Da patted Bertrand on the neck. “And you, me sweet donkey, you were a good friend, bringing me Fancy’s ’usband back to ’er. I can count on you to keep looking after the two o’ them, can’t I?”
Swishing his tail, Bertrand nodded and pulled his lips back in a toothy grin.
38
“Go to work,” Fancy told her husband the morning after they returned to London.
“I would rather stay with you,” he murmured into her ear. “I want to keep you in bed all day and pleasure you until you’re hoarse from crying my name. Then I would start all over again.”
Something, she knew from experience, that he was perfectly capable of doing.
“You’re supposed to meet with Mr. Bodin today. And Jonas is chomping at the bit to see the new Jacquard device.” She shivered when he licked her ear. “Stop that, or you’ll be late.”
“If I must.” His exaggerated sigh made her giggle. “I’ll save my wicked plans for you until tonight.”
He gave her one last lingering kiss before heading out.
She spent the morning with Toby and Eleanor, catching up on Toby’s breed choices for his puppy and discussing the latest cause Eleanor had adopted. At lunch, she chatted with Cecily and Aunt Esther about the gentlemen who’d come to call upon Cecily since Maggie’s ball, all of whom Esther declared to be eligible parti. Afterward, while Esther and Cecily went to Madame Rousseau’s, Fancy decided to stay home to write a long overdue letter to Bea.
Writing was still a laborious effort. Fancy was working out a crick in her neck, when Gemma came in with a pot of tea.
“Pardon, Your Grace, but you look like you could use a break,” the maid said with a cheery smile. “Perhaps a quick stroll around the square? It’s a lovely day.”
“What a marvelous idea,” Fancy agreed.
Gemma fetched her pelisse and parasol, and they headed out. The sunshine and crisp autumn air was a welcome change. They turned a corner onto a quiet street, Fancy so engrossed in chatting that she almost didn’t notice the door of a parked carriage swinging open into their path. She yanked Gemma out of harm’s way in the nick of time. Whirling to tell the offender to pay better mind to pedestrians, she found herself staring into sinister eyes, an instant before a handkerchief was shoved into her face.
A sweet scent filled her nostrils and lungs, choking off her shocked cry. She was pushed forward and landed with a hard thud on the carriage floor. The door slammed behind her. The world swayed, dissolving into darkness.
Severin, Bodin, and Jonas were examining the new Jacquard loom that had been set up in a separate room of the manufactory. Severin was showing the other two how the punched cards suspended above the machine controlled the pattern of the weave when his secretary interrupted them.
“There are two gentlemen to see you, Your Grace,” Potts said. “Misters Harry and Ambrose Kent.”
Ambrose Kent, the investigator Severin had hired, must have information about Dr. Erlenmeyer.
With stirring unease, Severin wiped his hands on a cloth, saying to Bodin and Jonas, “You’ll have to carry on without me.”
“Take your time.” Bodin’s fascinated gaze was glued to the machine. “Plenty to keep us occupied ’ere.”
Severin went to his office, greeting both his visitors. He�
��d had a previous meeting with Ambrose Kent to discuss his case, and seeing the Kent brothers together made the family resemblance obvious. Ambrose Kent was a tall, lanky man with silver at the temples and a distinguished air. His superbly tailored clothing proclaimed him a gentleman of means, yet the keenness of his amber gaze conveyed that he was no man of leisure.
“I presume you have news concerning Dr. Erlenmeyer?” Severin said after they were seated.
“Indeed. Compiling information on Dr. Erlenmeyer took longer than I expected.” Ambrose Kent took out a leather-bound notebook, flipping it open to a page of notes. “It appears the doctor took some effort to cover up his past.”
Severin’s gut chilled. This was not a good sign.
“Eight years ago, Dr. Karl Erlenmeyer arrived in London as a graduate of the prestigious University of Vienna,” Ambrose Kent said. “Having worked in several asylums in Austria, he secured a position at Bedlam and was there for approximately three years before he was let go.”
“Why was he sacked?” Severin asked tersely.
“According to the attendants I interviewed, some of Dr. Erlenmeyer’s treatments were less than humane.” Kent’s expression was grim. “His use of restraints, isolation, and extreme temperatures to ‘drive out the madness’ worsened the condition of some of his patients, including two who took their own lives while under his care.”
“Christ,” Harry Kent muttered.
The memory of his maman’s mistreatment chilled Severin’s veins. “What happened next?”
“Erlenmeyer landed himself his present position as the head of Brookfield Asylum, where he’s been for the last five years. When I tried to make inquiries into his current treatment techniques, the employees of the Asylum were tight-lipped as if they feared repercussions.”
“What about Anna Smith?” Severin asked. “Did you find out anything about her?”
“On conditions of anonymity, one attendant confided to me that when Miss Smith was first brought in over a month ago, she was ranting that her real name wasn’t Anna Smith but Rosamund Becker. The attendant said that she was clearly delusional, babbling about being the royal midwife.”