would like to accept your marker,” Garrity said, “my wife will not hear of it. Mrs. Garrity has taken a liking to Her Grace, and she has this strange notion that favors amongst friends should come for free.”
Although Garrity had adopted the tone of a long-suffering husband, Severin didn’t miss the pride in the man’s eyes as he searched out his redheaded wife.
Across the drawing room, Mrs. Garrity, Fancy, Mrs. Kent, and Viscountess Carlisle occupied a cluster of curricle chairs. The four ladies looked like frolicking nymphs from an oil painting, their pretty heads bent together, their expressions merry. As Severin watched, Viscountess Carlisle said something, and all four burst into laughter.
“What do you think they are giggling about?” he mused.
“We don’t want to know,” Kent said ruefully. “My sister Violet may be a viscountess and mama of three, but that hasn’t stopped her from being a hoyden. Carlisle indulges her quite shamelessly. That last comment she made was probably outrageous.”
“You do realize that is not tea they’ve been drinking?” Garrity’s gaze narrowed on his pink-cheeked and, indeed, rather tipsy-looking wife.
Severin studied his own bride. Fancy was also flushed, her eyes sparkling as she finished a glass of champagne. He thought back to the breakfast…how many glasses had she had? Before his bemused gaze, she whispered something to Mrs. Garrity, and the pair dissolved into a paroxysm of giggles.
“Gentlemen,” Garrity said. “I do believe it is time for us to collect our wives.”
“Probably a good idea,” Severin muttered. “If Fancy doesn’t stop now, she will have a megrim on the morrow.”
“The trick, Your Grace, is to take good care of your lady this eve,” Garrity said silkily. “Adieu.”
He advanced toward his wife, his stride distinctly predatory.
A wolfish gleam entered Kent’s gaze as well as he headed after his own lady, murmuring under his breath, “Devil and damn, I like weddings.”
“You don’t ’ave to carry me up the stairs, Knight,” his wife said, giggling. “I can walk.”
Glancing at his duchess’s languid, rosy features, Severin hid a smile.
“Since you nearly toppled out of the carriage, I am not taking any chances,” he told her.
“I tripped,” she said blithely.
“Over your own feet.”
“I’m not usually prone to accidents,” she said.
Then a worried crease formed between her brows, and he knew she was thinking about the bricks and the invisible menace.
“Nothing is going to happen to you,” he said firmly. “I will take care of you, Fancy. You know that, don’t you?”
Her forehead smoothed, his declaration—and no doubt the champagne—easing her anxiety.
“I trust you,” she said with a simplicity that made his chest expand with pride.
“Put it out of your mind, then,” he said. “We’ll deal with it in the morning.”
Arriving at her bedchamber, he dismissed her waiting maid. He sat his wife on the edge of the bed. Planting her hands on the mattress behind her, Fancy leaned back, chuckling as he knelt to remove her shoes.
“Are you my lady’s maid tonight?” she asked.
Fancy unsubtly batted her lashes at him. She was tipsy all right…but not so drunk that they couldn’t have some fun. Tonight, he wanted to take her mind off the looming threat; he had a plan and would contend with the dark business in the morning. At present, he had his wife to himself, and she was endearingly playful. It had been days since he’d tupped her, his loins burgeoning with the need to claim her once more.
He slid his hands beneath her golden skirts, up the silk-covered curve of her calf. He felt a pulse of satisfaction at the way her breath hitched, her eyelids lowering as he hooked a finger under her garter, unfastening it. His cock stiffened when she spread her legs wider for him, an invitation to touch her higher up.
Two could play at flirtation. After days of going without, he wanted to savor his pretty bride.
He took his time untying her other garter and rolling down her stockings. Then he pulled her to her feet, turning her around so that he could work on the buttons of her gown. She swayed a little as he divested her of the garment. Taking her hands, he placed them on a poster of the bed.
“Hold on to the bedpost, chérie,” he murmured against her ear. “We don’t want you falling while I get the rest of these layers off, hmm?”
She shivered against him. “Whate’er you say, Knight.”
“What an obedient little wife you are.” He untied her petticoats, the layers pooling around her. “By the by, you looked beautiful tonight.”