“I’m not usually prone to accidents,” she said.
Then a worried crease formed between her brows, and he knew she was thinking about the bricks and the invisible menace.
“Nothing is going to happen to you,” he said firmly. “I will take care of you, Fancy. You know that, don’t you?”
Her forehead smoothed, his declaration—and no doubt the champagne—easing her anxiety.
“I trust you,” she said with a simplicity that made his chest expand with pride.
“Put it out of your mind, then,” he said. “We’ll deal with it in the morning.”
Arriving at her bedchamber, he dismissed her waiting maid. He sat his wife on the edge of the bed. Planting her hands on the mattress behind her, Fancy leaned back, chuckling as he knelt to remove her shoes.
“Are you my lady’s maid tonight?” she asked.
Fancy unsubtly batted her lashes at him. She was tipsy all right…but not so drunk that they couldn’t have some fun. Tonight, he wanted to take her mind off the looming threat; he had a plan and would contend with the dark business in the morning. At present, he had his wife to himself, and she was endearingly playful. It had been days since he’d tupped her, his loins burgeoning with the need to claim her once more.
He slid his hands beneath her golden skirts, up the silk-covered curve of her calf. He felt a pulse of satisfaction at the way her breath hitched, her eyelids lowering as he hooked a finger under her garter, unfastening it. His cock stiffened when she spread her legs wider for him, an invitation to touch her higher up.
Two could play at flirtation. After days of going without, he wanted to savor his pretty bride.
He took his time untying her other garter and rolling down her stockings. Then he pulled her to her feet, turning her around so that he could work on the buttons of her gown. She swayed a little as he divested her of the garment. Taking her hands, he placed them on a poster of the bed.
“Hold on to the bedpost,chérie,” he murmured against her ear. “We don’t want you falling while I get the rest of these layers off, hmm?”
She shivered against him. “Whate’er you say, Knight.”
“What an obedient little wife you are.” He untied her petticoats, the layers pooling around her. “By the by, you looked beautiful tonight.”
Her breath caught as he tugged at a knot in her corset lacing. Holding the strings that controlled her respiration fanned his arousal. She was so exquisitely trusting in his hands. He tugged, then released, her sensual sigh engorging his prick.
“I’m glad you think so.” She looked over her shoulder at him with her big brown eyes. “I wanted to make you proud.”
God, she made him hard.
He chucked the corset aside and cupped her curvy backside, now covered only by a thin linen chemise. She quivered as he squeezed her luscious arse.
“I am proud of you.” He pushed her chemise up, his touch proprietary. His nostrils flared as he took stock of his lady: her lush hips, indented waist, the firm perfection of her breasts.
“Even if my speech isn’t perfect?” she gasped out.
He stilled in the act of playing with her tits which were, indeed, perfect. He took her hands from the bed post and turned her to face him. With her hair still in its elegant coronet, she looked like a debauched princess in her transparent chemise that displayed her budded red nipples and alluring dark thatch. Lust pounded urgently in his veins, but even more pressing was the worry he heard in her voice.
“Your speech is fine,” he said.
“I made mistakes,” she said, her expression forlorn. “Even though I tried not to. I’m still ’aving…having trouble with myh’s.”
Her vulnerability unleashed a wave of tenderness in him. Her cheerful disposition sometimes made him forget how much she was doing to become a proper duchess. All that she was undertaking…for him.
He cupped her cheek. “You’re doing a smashing job, sweeting.”
“Mr. Stanton doesn’t think so.” She wrinkled her nose, adding candidly, “He’s tearing out what’s left of ’is…his hair trying to get me to say myh’s properly.”
It struck Severin that Fancy didn’t usually complain to him about…well, anything. It was probably the champagne loosening her inhibitions. He wanted her to know that, tipsy or not, she didn’t have to hide how she felt from him.
“Tell me more,” he encouraged. “Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t think you can,” she mumbled.
