I overheard…your desire of the Duke.
I will show you how dedicated I am…to your desires.
Oh my God.
“You are here to sleep with me?” she asked weakly.
His eyes slid down her, slow, sensual, scorching. “It appears so.”
Georgiana could barely form words. Everything went slack: her jaw, her shoulders, her muscles.Thump.She glanced down. At her half-eaten biscuit. How was she even still standing? Her husband had arranged for her to sleep with the Duke?
And just like that, she snapped straight, something sharp and searing hot flying through her veins, coursing into her chest where it went up in flames. The absoluteimbecile!She had half the mind to sleep with the Duke just to teach Fitz a bloody lesson. She wasn’t going to, butarghhh!The man was cracked in the head. And she was going to crack it further when she walloped him. How could he ever think this was what she wanted, that this was agift?
She bared her teeth and growled. And promptly took a step backward.
Because the Duke’s lids lowered on her growl, and his mouth curled up in a predatory smile. Well, what would be considered a smile for the Duke. His lips tilted in the general direction they were supposed to if one was to smile. Up-ish.
Focus, Georgiana.That smile was the last of Georgiana’s worries.
Because the Duke was advancing.
Shite.
45
Fitz
Shite.
Fitz froze in the doorway of the room he’d been assigned at Madame Beaumont’s. Because the naked woman laying within the sapphire, canopied bed wasnothis wife. She popped up on her elbows and cocked her head, her light-brown hair fluttering. She studied him with large, curious, dark eyes. Clearly, she knew he wasn’t in the right room as well. Heat crawled up his neck and slapped over his cheeks.
“P-p-pardon. My ap-pologies.” He stumbled backwards and slammed the door shut.
He let his head fall to the door with athud.
You bloody idiot, Fitz.
Hewouldgo to a brothel and accidentally walk into the wrong room. He had been assigned room 2A, and that room had clearly not been 2A.
He stepped back, gaze homing in on the plaque.
2A.
Fitz frowned. He shuffled about in his coat pocket and retrieved his card that had his room assignment. Room 2A. Well, that didn’t make a lick of sense.
Letting out a weighty sigh, he spun on his heel and made his way to Madame Beaumont’s office. Why could nothing ever go smoothly for Fitz? He couldn’t even apologize to his wife without incident. He hurried down the stairs, nearly skating to the bottom, and strode to the double doors at the end of the hallway.
Madam Beaumont’s office was a large, dark-wood paneled room with rich, burgundy velvet upholstered furniture, and a desk that would rival the one in his brother’s study. Which was where the Madame sat, quill in hand. Her head sprang up before he even made it through her doors, her deep-rose rouged lips splitting into a smile. She nonchalantly flicked back one of her loose ebony waves and put down her quill.
She rested her elbows on her desk, studying him, chin resting on her hands. “Mr. Jennings, how can I assist you? Is there something not to your liking with your rooms?”
“Yes, the woman.”
Her head jerked back, and she blinked at him. “You…are not pleased with your wife.”
He frowned. “Urm, no. What I mean to say is the woman in my room is not my wife.”
Her slim, black brows furrowed, and she sifted through some paperwork on her desk. “Room 2A, was it not?”
