Panting, he placed a soft kiss on her nape before pulling her down to lay with him. He had sufficient energy left to tuck the coverlet over them. She snuggled against him, her contented sigh an echo of his own sentiments. Stroking her hair, his legs tangled with hers, he fell into a deep sleep.
When Fancy awoke the next morning, it took a moment for her to recognize her surroundings. She was in Knight’s bed. He was gone, but his scent still lingered. Smiling dreamily, she rubbed her cheek against his pillow, reliving last night. The steamy passion they’d shared…and more.
I appreciate you. Having you by my side.
Happiness trembled through her. Along with trepidation.
Was she falling in love with Knight?
She admired him so. For the way he had survived a dark past and yet took care of others without expecting anything return. For the way he made her feel special and wanted. For the way he was a fighter and protector and yet had vulnerabilities of his own.
Vulnerabilities that she wanted to help him with, the way he was giving her pieces of her dream. But was she setting herself up for pain? The devastation of a broken heart?
From the start, Knight had told her that he would not love her. He was nothing if not honest. Even though they’d grown closer since that time, she had no right to expect that his view on love would change. Knowing that, she ought to be wise and guard her heart.
Alas, when am I wise? she thought with a sigh.
She had never been one to give up on her dreams. But maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe if she succeeded in fixing herself up into a perfect duchess, then he might fall in love with her.
He liked her already, she thought with burgeoning hope. And he definitely desired her. Each time they made love, she felt closer to him, felt him letting down his guard more and more. Last night, he’d shown a raw side of him she’d never seen before; just thinking of the way he’d rutted her, like a barnyard animal, made her cheeks—and other parts—warm.
With friendship and passion checked off the list, all she needed was to win Knight’s admiration, the sort he obviously had for Imogen. If Fancy dazzled the ton as the Duchess of Knighton, hostess and sister-in-law extraordinaire, then he would see her in the same way, wouldn’t he? She could win his love after all.
Brimming with optimism over her new plan, Fancy returned to her room. Winning Knight’s love wasn’t the only important item on her agenda: she was going to see Bea. Because they’d arrived too late last night, Knight had promised to take her first thing.
Returning to her own chamber, she rang for help, and the maid Mrs. Treadwell had assigned her arrived with a cheery smile and a breakfast tray. After Fancy ate every bite of the coddled eggs and crisp buttered toast (last night had worked up her appetite), she dressed, completed her morning ablutions, and hurried downstairs to find her husband.
He wasn’t in the breakfast parlor, and one of the footmen said His Grace was with a visitor in the drawing room. Fancy ventured over and heard voices coming from within. Putting on a bright smile—she wanted to make a good first impression on Knight’s guests—she walked through the door and froze.
Knight was standing by the fire with the most beautiful creature Fancy had ever seen.
The woman had hair of reddish gold, bound up in swirls and curls that showed off the swan-like perfection of her neck. She was tall, just a few inches shorter than Knight. Her slender, willowy build was draped in an elegant carriage dress of cerulean blue. Her matching pelisse was cinched at her waist with a gold belt, and her slim fingers were encased in pristine white gloves. She was standing close to Knight, clutching a handkerchief, looking up at him with a longing expression that twisted Fancy’s heart.
When Knight’s gaze jerked to Fancy, the woman also turned, and her azure eyes widened in her sculpted face. The single tear rolling down her cheek enhanced her angelic beauty.
In a sickening, heart-crushing flash, Fancy knew who the woman was.
“Fancy, you’re up early.” Knight took a hasty step back from the woman. “This is an old friend, Lady Imogen Cardiff. She, er, had something caught in her eye, and I was just lending her my handkerchief.”