me Fancy ain’t suited for that sort o’ life. She be a good girl, free and untainted. London would ruin ’er.”
Severin’s irritation faded as he saw the darkening of Milton’s pupils, the panic written across the weathered features. What was the tinker afraid of? That Severin would mistreat Fancy?
“If by ruin, you mean that she will live in a mansion in Mayfair, then I suppose that is true,” Severin said coolly. “She will also have a generous allowance in addition to gowns, jewels, and amenities befitting a duchess.”
“Those be things.” Milton looked disgusted, as if the luxuries that Severin had to offer were worth less than dirt.
The irony wasn’t lost upon Severin that for years he’d fought for wealth believing that it would win him the woman of his dreams. It hadn’t been enough with Imogen. Now that he had riches and was a damned duke, it still wasn’t enough, this time for the daughter of a peddler.
When will I bloody be enough? a voice inside him raged.
“Things can’t make me girl ’appy,” the tinker went on in derisive tones. “If you think that material goods be what she needs, then it be for certain that you’ll be making ’er miserable.”
Fancy’s voice whispered in his head, I want a faerie tale.
A band tightened around Severin’s chest. Her father was right: he couldn’t give her what she wanted. He was determined, however, to give her an honorable alternative, and for that he needed to speak with her.
“There is one way to solve this,” he said with steely resolve. “Let me talk to Fancy. You have my word that I will be honest with her. She will know what it is that I offer. Let the choice be hers. If she wants me to go, then I will go. But upon my honor, you will not be rid of me otherwise.”
12
Nervous butterflies swarmed Fancy as she awaited Knight in the farmhouse kitchen. Her father was stationed just outside and had insisted that the door remain open during the meeting. Even though she had protested that nothing would happen—and that none of this was Knight’s fault—her father would not budge.
“The fellow says ’e won’t leave unless ’e speaks to you first,” Da had said in a stern tone that she’d not heard from him before. “It’ll be up to you to put things in order. ’Is world and ours don’t mix, Fancy, and London be no place for you. A fortnight ago ’e was courting Miss Beatrice because ’e needs a lady to be ’is duchess. The only reason ’e’s offering for you is because o’ obligation—and you deserve more than that. You set ’im free, you ’ear?”
Biting her lip, she’d nodded. Though her heart ached, she knew her father was right. Before Knight had made love to her, he’d been clear that he couldn’t offer for her. That he couldn’t give her anything beyond the pleasure of the moment…and she’d agreed to it. She would not renege on her side of the bargain, would never trap Knight into a marriage he didn’t want.
Knight entered, and his presence momentarily sucked the thoughts from her head, the air from her lungs. Longing pervaded her as she took in his elegance, the shifting power of his form as he prowled toward her. Her senses tingled with memory: the tender-rough scrape of his bristle against her skin, the silky slide of his hair between her fingers, the heated drag of his mouth. She tasted his delicious, masculine flavor… Suddenly, she remembered how he’d pushed her away.
I cannot kiss you, he’d said.
She didn’t understand why, after everything else they’d done. Was she…not good enough to kiss? Bea had warned her that a gentleman like Knight might only be after a quick tumble. The idea that he would think so little of her wrenched her heart. All the more reason to get this over with. She tried to compose herself as he came to stand next to her by the table.
Stupidly, she wished she had worn something nicer than her faded work dress. But putting on her pink gown would signal a desperation that her pride wouldn’t permit. He, of course, looked flawless in a dove grey frock coat and waistcoat with a subtle damask pattern. His jaw was smooth against his crisp cravat, his expensive scent a poignant reminder of what they’d shared, and how far above her he was.
“How are you, Fancy?” he asked.
His concerned tone brought a heated prickle to her eyes. Yearning thumped in