Knight had proved a cordial host. He’d borne her brothers’ antics and ribald toasts with good grace, a smile reaching his eyes when he caught her blushing. Da had thawed toward Knight somewhat, his felicitations resigned rather than genuinely joyful. Fancy had spent the last two days reassuring her father that Knight was the man she wanted to marry.
After the feast ended, she’d gone up to the bridal suite Knight had reserved for her. A maid had been waiting to help her with her bath. After a luxurious rose-scented soak in a large copper tub, the maid had dressed her in her best nightgown. The night before, Fancy had used scraps of blue ribbon and lace to trim the neckline of the plain linen shift. She hoped Knight wouldn’t notice the garment’s worn state. At least her hair looked nice, the maid brushing it until it fell in a shining curtain to her waist.
Now Fancy sat in one of the overstuffed armchairs by the fire, waiting for Knight. Her husband. She supposed she ought to be nervous, but the truth was she was eager. She couldn’t wait for her wedding night, to discover more of the passion he had begun to show her. She felt giddy as she glanced at the large bed.
She looked down at her left hand, where her wedding band gleamed. The plain circle of gold shone with possibility. Knight had given it to her before they’d left the blacksmith’s shop. When he’d slid the ring onto her finger, her throat had clogged with wonder, and she’d struggled to get out her thanks.
“This was the best I could do on short notice,” he’d said in a brusque manner. “I’ll get you something better when we return to London.”
Realizing that he had misinterpreted her silence for dislike, she blurted, “No, I love the ring. Thank you for thinking of it.”
The door to the adjoining chamber opened, and her chest swelled as her new husband entered. Sweet Jaysus, he was handsome. Attired in a black silk dressing gown, he prowled toward her with virile grace. His thick hair was damp from his bath, the curling at his nape suggesting that his hair might have an appealing wave to it if he were to wear it longer.
When she rose to greet him, he reached for her hand. His fingers engulfed hers. The warm brush of his lips over her knuckles unleashed a shiver of anticipation.
“I like your hair this way, chérie,” he murmured. “Did I give you sufficient time to recover from the day’s festivities?”
His elegant endearment gave her a little thrill. Having done piecework for a French dressmaker, she knew chérie was French for “dear.”
“I’m not tired,” she said candidly. “I was waiting for you.”
“Were you?” His slow smile caused her heart to flip-flop. “What a good little wife you are.”
Blushing, she said, “It’s still strange thinking o’ myself as a wife.”
“What about as the Duchess of Knighton?”
“That is even stranger,” she admitted. “I can’t believe we’re married.”
“Believe it because we are. There is no going back.”
The firmness of his tone took her aback. As did the possessive flare of his pupils.
“I don’t want to go back,” she said.
“Good.” He took her chin between finger and thumb, rubbing the latter gently over her bottom lip. “Because I would like nothing more than to move forward with our marriage.”
“I want that too. Since our night in the forest, I’ve been thinking o’ little else.”
At her confession, he let out a warm, husky laugh. “Married a lusty wench, did I? Lucky me.”
In the next instant, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He set her on her feet next to the mattress; as he perused the length of her, she felt a nervous flutter.
I ’ope ’e doesn’t notice the patches, she fretted.
“Lift your arms up, sweetheart,” he said.
When she obeyed, he pulled her shift over her head, tossing it aside without a glance.
So much for caring about my nightgown.
Her relief was short-lived as she was now standing fully naked before a man for the first time. Knight’s proprietary gaze felt like a touch, awareness prickling over her skin. Her breasts rose and fell with her rapid breaths, the tips taut and straining toward him. When she instinctively squeezed her thighs together, she felt the slickness of her dew.
“By Jove, you’re pretty,” he said thickly. “I didn’t get a good look the last time.”
The molten silver in his eyes made her feel pretty, albeit a little