as she pulled out various tools that had been tucked inside the metal casing, attached to the contraption by a rotating bolt. The tools were scaled-down versions of the originals and included a screwdriver, blade, and spatula amongst others. Fancy reached for the jar, opening it to reveal a thick, dark substance. Scooping up the treacly stuff with the metal spatula, she began patching the wheel with it.
“What is in the jar?” Severin asked.
“Da’s proprietary concoction.” Her brow furrowed in concentration, she didn’t take her eyes from the task. “It’s a mixture o’ tree sap, coal tar, and linseed oil, plus a few other ingredients. It dries in a blink and will ’old anything together.”
“Amazing,” he murmured.
“No one tinkers better than Milton Sheridan,” she said proudly.
He wasn’t referring to her father’s inventions, handy as they were. His duchess finished filling the cracks in the wood, seeming oblivious to the astonished and admiring looks from the other men.
“There, that should do it.” She stood, wiping her tinker’s friend clean before folding it up and returning it to her skirts.
Rogers examined the wheel. “Blimey, you fixed the bleedin’ thing,” he said in awe. “And saved me a ride in the rain.”
“It wasn’t me but my da’s concoction.”
At Fancy’s friendly smile, the driver looked spellbound.
Severin couldn’t blame the man. Tendrils had escaped from her braids, curling delicately upon her pink cheeks. Her rain-spiked eyelashes made her brown eyes appear even bigger. She looked like a friendly faerie, one disarmingly unaware of her charms.
“I think Rogers can take it from here,” he said.
He steered her back into the carriage, closing the door behind them. She shed his wet jacket and perched on the squabs, toweling off her braids. As the carriage began to move, Severin drew the curtains together.
She tilted her head. “Why are you closing the curtains?”
“We need to get you out of your wet things,” he said.
“I’m not that wet—”
Her sentence was lost in a squeak as he tugged her onto his lap so that she straddled him. Flipping up her damp skirts, he found the slit in her drawers and ran a finger along her feminine cleft. The contrast between her silky thatch and slick flesh made him instantly hard.
“You’re getting there,” he said in satisfaction.
Her eyes widened, her hands clutching his shoulders. “But, Knight, we’re in a carriage—”
She gasped. Probably because he’d released his erection and was running the burgeoned head along her dewy folds. As he breached her hole, warm honey bathed his cockhead.
Bloody heaven.
“What are you… It can be done this way?” she breathed.
He impaled her deeper onto his shaft, biting back a groan at the deliciously snug fit.
“Yes, sweet,” he said. “I think you’ll like it.”
Her blissful moan told him that he was right.
18
They arrived in London at nightfall. Descending the carriage, Fancy stared up at the house—no, it was more than that. It was a blooming mansion, the size of which even the dimness could not obscure. Built of light-colored stone, the edifice stood four stories tall, complete with columns, pediments, and rows of arched windows from which light blazed.
“This is where you live?” she asked in a small voice.
“This is where we both live now, sweeting.” Knight led her up the front steps, his hand at her waist. “I took residence here not long ago myself. We’ll get used to this pile of stones together.”
His comment was no doubt meant to be reassuring, but it didn’t quell the fluttering of her nerves. Unlike her, he hadn’t been living in a travelling wagon before this.
Until this moment, her confidence in their compatibility had been growing by leaps and bounds. The intimate sharing of their bodies and minds had made her feel like his equal. Moreover, Knight had a way of making her feel…special.
After making love to her in the carriage, for instance, he had cuddled her in his lap, murmuring in her ear, “Do you have any idea how adorable you are when you tinker, chérie?”
No one had called her adorable before. The fact that he found her so had rendered her speechless. She wanted so badly to be a good wife to him; unfortunately, the role included being a duchess.
’Old your ’ead up, then, she told herself. Act as if you belong ’ere.
Her resolve wavered as they entered the grand abode. Awaiting them in the stunning marble antechamber was a veritable army of servants. She gulped as she took in their formal livery, polished brass buttons winking beneath the chandelier. Although she’d donned her best