Dom had spent every second since he had bedded her the first time plotting and dreaming what it would be like to have her again. His need for her had only grown more pronounced, the more time he spent in her presence. The ale in the public rooms had been his attempt at being a gentleman.
It had been either get a bit tap-hackled in an effort to quell his raging cockstand or fall upon her like a starving beggar who had been deprived of sustenance for long enough to make him go mad. He had also made certain his pickpocket did not go about separating any of the guests at the inn from their purses.
Davy, as Dom had discovered the lad’s name was, had bedded down in the stables with his coachman for the night, each of them with a warm mug of cider and the rich meat pies of the proprietress filling their bellies. Dom was not entirely certain the lad’s word was good, but he fully intended to make certain the little thief had complied by the light of the morning.
Still, the hour was early, and he had not expected Lady Adele to be in blissful slumber when he returned to their rooms. At least she had thought to lock the door. Her trusting nature did not apparently extend to fellow travelers, thank Christ.
With a sigh, Dom stalked toward the hearth where the fire had already gone low. The air had a pronounced nip to it, and he could not abide by cold. Mayhap it was the result of living on the streets for so much of his youth. There was nothing worse than a London winter with no roof and scarcely any food.
He stoked the fire, then stood before it, allowing the flames to warm him. Wondering what he would do. He ought to wake her and claim her. Strip her out of her travel weeds and sink inside her where he belonged. Fuck her until the sun rose.
The Dominic Winter he had always believed himself to be would have done so, he was sure of it. He would have had no quarter for a fancy duke’s daughter who had the effrontery to fall asleep on their wedding night. But ever since Lady Adele Saltisford had entered his life, he had gone despicably soft.
Not his prick, he thought grimly. That part of his anatomy had failed to change. He wanted her more than he had ever desired another woman.
But his mind, his resolve, his ruthlessness—those traits which had kept him in power amidst the bloodthirsty, grasping monsters of the rookeries—seemed to have been affected. What the devil was this sudden affliction? Did it have a name?
Grimly, he turned and stalked back toward the bed where Adele lay sleeping. Her lovely face was relaxed, her lips parted. She had not shed anything save her bonnet, gloves, and pelisse. And nor had she bothered to draw down the counterpane or remove her boots.
In the low, flickering light, she looked every bit the angel he had once believed her. She also looked bloody uncomfortable. Not that he cared, of course.
He was Dominic Winter. He cared for his siblings who shared his blood. He worried over his empire, his money, his power. He most certainly did not fret over a spoiled daughter to a duke who had lied to him, run from him, and then fallen asleep before he could enjoy his wedding night, curse it.
Curse her.
He was moving toward her before he realized what he was doing, his damned legs possessing a mind of their own. Dom stopped at the foot of the bed. Her boots were as fine as she was, fashioned of white cotton and kid, laced with satin, and highly impractical.
He untied the knot on her right boot first, then the left. He slid them off to reveal small, dainty feet encased in stockings. Never in his life had the sight of a woman’s toes affected him. Hell, he had been hard pressed to notice they even possessed them.
Until now.
Her toes were cold. The realization bothered him. Dom set about warming them in his hands. She shifted on the bed, making a deep, throaty sound of satisfaction that went directly to his cock. Because all the sense he had once possessed had fled him utterly, he began rubbing her feet, using his thumbs on her arches. Just to hear more of her satisfied purrs, he told himself. Not because he wanted to tend to her.
His gaze traveled the length of her. She lay on her side, her arms cradling her midriff. So trusting, so serene. Dipped in sunshine, she was. And foolish. Did she not know what manner of man she had married, to trust him implicitly enough that she fell asleep before he returned to their shared rooms and bed?
It occurred to him then that neither of them had eaten. Surely she must be hungry. He flicked the opposite end of the counterpane over her, making certain it was tucked all around her, before he tried to wake her.
“Duchess?” Gently, he brushed a dark tendril of hair that had fallen over her face from her cheek. “Time to wake, love.”
Her eyes did not open. Instead, she nuzzled her cheek into his palm in the fashion of a satisfied cat. “Mmm.”
Damn her.This woman excelled at torture. He wanted her so desperately, he could scarcely breathe, and she was sleeping like a babe.
He gave her shoulder a light shake next. “Adele, wake up.”
Her eyes flew open at last, and she jolted, as if he had just hauled her from somewhere pleasant.
She blinked at him. “Dom?”
Finally, he had his way. She had called him Dom. The victory was a hollow one, however. She remained half in the grip of slumber. He was still stroking her cheek. Disgusted with himself, he withdrew his touch.
“Do you intend to sleep all evening, Duchess? I, for one, would like to have my supper.” His voice was curt, possessing the stinging lash of a whip, and he knew it.
Her brow furrowed. “Forgive me. I did not intend to fall asleep. I have been so tired since I have…been traveling. I had no wish to displease you.”
He frowned down at her, feeling like an arse. The pause in her words had not slipped past him. He was a man who studied the expressions, eyes, and words of everyone around him at all times. His life and his position depended upon it.
“You have been so tired since you have been what, Duchess?” he probed, suspicious.
