He tried reading, drinking, exercising, and then drinking some more until he finally collapsed into bed from sheer exhaustion and sank into the sweet relief of unconsciousness. But as he sat up with bleary eyes and a sore head, his thoughts immediately—and deviously—returned to Phoebe: the feel of her lush, inviting mouth, the sound of her feather-breath sighs, and the press of her firm thighs as she rocked against his cock.
Dammit. He was as hard as granite.Again.He tried recalling her awkward goodbye, but it did little to cool his ardor.
Meant nothing, my foot.
Her words had been a messy act of self-preservation, Will was sure of it. And he understood the impulse, as this entire situation was bordering on farcical. But what he had felt last night was exceptional. Extraordinary, even. And he was quite certain it was the same for Phoebe, though she seemed reluctant to admit it.
Will winced as he climbed out of bed and rang for his valet. It would be a cold bath for him this morning.
After spending a very long time sitting in an Italian marble tub full of chilly water, Will was feeling mostly refreshed. He spent the first half of the morning with his secretary, reviewing reports from his various estates and deciding which pressing problem to throw money at first and which could wait. Such was the business of the duchy.
Then it was on to his social schedule. If given the choice, hewould have reviewed a thousand agricultural reports rather than discuss which invitations he should accept, decide who he needed to call on this week and who he could put off, and, most mind-numbing of all, which events he was obligated to attend.
Will hadn’t realized he’d groaned aloud until his secretary, Mr. Flynn, raised an eyebrow.
“Would you like me to cancel your afternoon ride with Lady Gwen?”
Will hesitated. Even before he had met up with Phoebe last night, he had decided against pursuing things further with Lady Gwen. She may have been perfect on paper, but it was becoming ever clearer that they just didn’t suit. And while there were a great deal of things he was willing to sacrifice to the dukedom, a wife he didn’t feel more than a slight attraction to was no longer one of them. Besides, Will reasoned, she might very well have her own reservations about him. It had never been a love match between them, after all. But regardless, it was still the kind of conversation one must have in person, however much one was dreading it.
“No,” he sighed. “Do I have anything on for next Thursday evening?”
Mr. Flynn flipped through the schedule and shook his head. “Good. Keep it free.”
Once the last invitation had been responded to, Mr. Flynn took his leave. Will leaned back in his chair and stared up at the elaborate plaster ceiling. The room, nay, the entire house was a monument to excess. Nothing but marble, gold, and, occasionally, silver. It may have cost a fortune, but the effect was cold and sterile. Will always felt like he was walking through a museum, not a home. He had wanted to redecorate this house since he first crossed the threshold, but decided it was better to wait until he married so thefuture duchess could have some input. He then smiled to himself at the thought of Phoebe marching in here and casting one of her withering looks of disapproval around the room. She’d probably suggest they burn it all down and start anew.
And God, didn’t that feel right.
A knock at the door interrupted this rebellious little reverie and Mr. Flynn appeared again with a mortified look on his face.
“Sorry to bother you, Your Grace, but… your mother is here.”
Will sat up abruptly. “Did we forget she was coming?”
“We did not,” his secretary said with just a hint of indignation. Mr. Flynnnevermade a mistake.
“Of course,” Will soothed. The last thing he needed was Mr. Flynn in one of his moods. He stood and pulled on his coat. “Better show her in then.”
As the man left to fetch his mother, Will rang for tea and began to pace. After a few minutes, the door opened again and Lydia Margrave sailed into the room. Never one to miss making an entrance, she threw open her arms. “Darling!”
“Hello, Mother,” Will said as he submitted to a cheek kiss. “Is everything all right?”
She looked affronted. “Do I need an excuse to visit my own son?”
“Of course not,” Will said with a tight smile and took her hand. “But I wasn’t expecting you in town until next week.”
He led her to her favorite chair by the hearth that also looked out over his back garden.
“I thought I’d come a bit early and see how you were enjoying the season,” she said as she gracefully took her seat. For the last few years, the front of her dark hair had slowly turned white. But instead of attempting to mask it, she had artfully arranged thelong streak to striking effect. Leave it to his mother to find a way to make aging fashionable.
“Ah,” he replied as he took the seat across from her. “How was the train?”
Will’s mother still lived in his childhood home in Surrey with Cal, but she came to London often.
“It was fine. Uneventful.”
Will cleared his throat. “And how is Cal?”
She glanced away and fiddled with her skirt. “Also fine. You know how he is,” she added softly.
