The Return of the Duke - Grace Callaway Page 0,101
had stayed late at work. She had fallen asleep before he returned, and when she’d knocked on his door in the morning, he had already left.
The pattern was becoming undeniable.
Until two nights ago, their intimacy had been growing day by day. Fancy could only think of one thing that could have brought on Knight’s brooding mood—the same thing that had brought it on the time before: Imogen.
Fancy tried to battle her insecurities, remembering what Maggie had said about Knight watching her whilst talking to the other woman, but her doubts proliferated like weeds. Could she ever replace the angelic Imogen in Knight’s affections? Could she win her husband’s heart? Would he ever want to kiss her and only her?
Fancy didn’t know the answers. What she did know was that she loved her husband. She couldn’t allow him to build a wall—or close the door—between them when they’d been making such good progress. Thus, that evening, she nursed a pot of tea and waited up for Knight.
At half-past midnight, she heard him enter his chamber. He had a murmured exchange with Verney, followed by the sounds of the valet readying him for bed. Hearing Verney leave, Fancy pounced on the opportunity and knocked on the door. Her pulse thrummed as footsteps sounded on the other side.
The barrier opened, revealing Knight. He was ready for bed. The vee of his dressing gown showed the hard, hair-dusted contours of his chest, his muscular calves bulging below the hem. The fact that he was obviously naked beneath his robe caused a flutter between her legs to accompany the one in her heart.
“Yes, sweeting?” He gave her an inquiring look. “Do you need something?”
You, she thought in frustration. Why are you acting differently? Did one look from Imogen destroy all the progress we’ve made?
His polite tone and veiled gaze made her afraid of the answers. She flashed back to the perfection of Knight and Imogen beneath the potted palm. Imogen, slender, beautiful, and breathtakingly fragile staring up at Knight with her heaven-blue eyes. And Knight, tall, dark, and handsome, bending to murmur a reply. It could be the perfect scene from a faerie tale—except the prince was with the wrong princess.
Knight’s mine, Fancy thought with a surge of possessiveness. He lives with me, sleeps with me, and he is blooming well going to love me.
“Fancy? Are you all right?”
Seeing Knight’s quizzical expression, she summoned her courage.
“I was wondering if you would like company tonight,” she said.
Her breath held as his brows drew together. He’d told her once that he would always welcome her in his bedchamber; had he lied? Had his desire for her faded after seeing Imogen?
Clearing his throat, he stepped aside. “Yes, of course. Come in.”
Exhaling, she entered his bedchamber. His gaze grew heavy-lidded as it roamed over her, building her confidence. She was wearing another of Madame Rousseau’s creations, this bedtime set the most daring of them all. The cherry satin peignoir and negligee were cut to cling to her curves. The neckline plunged in a deep vee and was covered in scandalous black lace, which gave a peekaboo view of her breasts.
She might not possess Lady Cardiff’s cool, fair beauty, but she had her own attractions. She knew Knight liked her breasts because he’d told her repeatedly as well as shown it. Determination unfurled in her to stake her claim on her husband…and she knew exactly how to do it.
Trying her best to be seductive and sophisticated, she walked over to his bed, giving her hips an extra wriggle. Her attempt to be a temptress was somewhat marred by the fact that she wasn’t tall enough to slide sinuously onto the bed. She had to give an inelegant little hop to boost herself up, her bottom bouncing when it hit the mattress.
Recovering, she leaned back in what she hoped was a languid pose, giving Knight a come-hither look. She felt a charge of power when he prowled toward her. He towered over her like a stern yet sensual god, silver lightning in his eyes. His smoldering intensity fed the reckless beat in her blood, as did the prominent bulge at the front of his robe.
“What are you up to, sweeting?” he said.
“I wanted to show you my new negligee.” She fluttered her lashes. “Do you like it?”
She let the peignoir slip off her shoulders, revealing the black straps of her negligee beneath.
His nostrils quivered like those of a stallion scenting its mate. “Take off the peignoir, and I’ll decide.”