Camille nodded. “I told her only that we were figuring things out. Do you believe Charlotte and Hamish suspect?”
“That you are now the new Duchess of Lux?” Renard said.
“Duchess.” She turned warm before cold reality sunk in. “What about the heir you mentioned? Will he really take you to court over objections to the line?”
Renard snorted. “I’d like to see him and his meddlesome mother try to take this away from us. I have you—nothing else matters. I’ll crow our marriage from the top of Lux Manor’s tower.”
She smiled. “We have a tower?”
He kissed her knuckles, the warmth in his eyes doing more than the warming block at their feet to keep the chill away.
“You will have whatever you desire,” he said. “Towers, tarts...”
“Children?”
His other hand covered their intertwined fingers. “Yes, my dear. If you are willing?”
“You married me not knowing if I would sire an heir? Isn’t that all you aristocrat males desire in life? Aren’t you afraid your heir will inherit the title, if not win it by petition?”
He shrugged, the action so sweet, she wanted to fling off the wool blanket across his lap and replace it with her, astride him.
“None of that matters. I married you, Milly,for you. The manor and title can fall to that sniveling Mr. Norris or the devil himself.”
Camille did take him for a ride after that, a ride that lasted the next several hours until they pulled up to their home in the country.
And, for once, Camille had not one complaint about the excessive rocking of the carriage.
*
A rapping ofknuckles on the chamber door woke him.
Renard eased out of bed—careful not to wake his duchess—wrapped a dressing gown around himself, and accepted a letter from his valet through a crack in the door.
“Thank you, Fredricks. Would you ask Cook to bake some tarts for this afternoon? I wish to show the duchess the parks.”
Fredricks bowed. “Yes, Your Grace. Would you care to shave and dress before I go?”
Renard rubbed the bristle on his jaw that had grown quite long in the week he’d been away. Camille had giggled last night when he’d kissed down her bare back, saying the tickle had been maddening. When his mouth had found its way to the apexbetween her thighs, she’d come after the first sweep of bristle to her delicate lips.
He grinned and shook his head. “Perhaps I’ll let it go for now. Iama married man.”
Fredricks’s smile matched that of the rest of the staff since Renard had returned home, duchess in tow. “If I may, sir, it suits you.”
Renard didn’t need to ask to which statement the man approved.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” Fredrich asked. “Would you like me to wait in case you need reply urgently?”
Remembering the letter in his hand—the first of dozens of forthcoming invitations and callers, no doubt—Renard dismissed his valet’s offer and told him to take the next few hours to enjoy a spot of breakfast. Glancing back at where the sheet had fallen to expose his wife’s shoulder, Renard’s body tightened. “The duchess and I will be indisposed for the rest of the morning.”
Fredricks bowed again, amusement in his eyes. “Very good, sir.”
Closing the door, Renard was prepared to throw the letter on the vanity and take full advantage of his wife’s nakedness when the insignia on the seal stopped him cold.
He glanced Camille’s way, determining she still slept.
Crossing to the window to read in the faint light seeping through an opening in the curtains, he broke the letter’s seal with shaky hands.
Come to the club, or your secrets will reach your sister’s ears before the authorities.
