Page 27 of On the Ropes of Scandal (With Love in Their Corner #3)

Later that night

D uncan had sent Phoebe upstairs nearly an hour ago with the bouquet he’d brought her in the boxing salon. Of course he would join her, but he wanted a brandy to calm his nerves and to remove something from the small safe in his study.

He glanced at the flat, rectangle-shaped box lying on his desk.

The maroon linen cover had long ago faded, but it was one of the physical things his father had left him in his will, and it was one of a handful of items that wasn’t tied to the estate so couldn’t be sold once his father had debts mounting up.

With reverent movements, Duncan opened the box.

It was a parure of jewelry, all delicate silver filagree work set with oval-shaped sapphires and aquamarines, and on the necklace, smaller diamonds.

The only piece missing was the ring that currently rested on Phoebe’s finger that he put there at the nuptial ceremony.

And now he was going to bestow the remainder of it to her.

It was time to start treating her like his wife in every way that mattered.

What was more, he rather suspected that he’d finally untangled his feelings for her.

They hadn’t changed overly much since their time in Surrey.

In short, he did love her. He hadn’t realized it until earlier tonight while sparring with her.

After running his fingertips over a few of the stones, he softly closed the box, swallowed the remainder of his brandy, then stood.

Would she appreciate the offering? More than that, would she know what it meant?

A few moments later, he arrived at their shared suite. As quietly as he could, Duncan opened the door and closed it behind him. In the event she had already retired, he didn’t wish to disturb her. “Phoebe? Are you here?”

“In the bedroom.” The dulcet tone of her voice worked to further calm him. “Where were you? I assumed you would have come up sooner.”

“There was something I wished to attend to in the study.” As he walked through the sitting room, he left the box of jewelry on the top of a bureau.

Then he removed his cuffs, collar, and cravat.

At the connecting door to the bedroom, he toed off his boots and let them fall to the hardwood with dual thuds.

“There is something I want to gift you with, but I’ll do that a bit later. ”

“That’s not needed. You have already given me so much.

” She smiled at him from the midst of a mound of pillows in the middle of the wide four-poster bed.

One of the windows was half-open, for she craved fresh air, and he couldn’t deny her that even if it wasn’t a popular choice in society.

The steady drum of rain sounded in the room and brought with it the scents of autumn—wet leaves, smoke from chimneys, and the smell of the world that was preparing for slumber ahead of winter.

It was quite indescribable but familiar.

He shrugged. “What can I say? You are my wife, and I want you to have lovely things.”

“Ah.” Phoebe laid aside the book she’d been reading.

No doubt she’d procured it yesterday during her outing with his mother.

Her smile brightened the room and caused his heart to squeeze.

“If you’re not careful, your brothers will tease you and say you’re in danger of tossing your hat over the windmill for your wife. ”

“Is that such a bad thing?” At the last second, he decided against declaring himself. Perhaps that could wait for later as well.

“Not necessarily.” Slowly, she slipped from the bed and stood.

With her hair loose and flowing about her shoulders, she was every bit a siren.

Clad in a night dress with a matching wrap, both in a shade of light blue trimmed with lace that hugged her curves, it was clear she didn’t have sleep immediately on her mind.

“I enjoyed being at the boxing salon with you tonight.” Her pink toes peeked out from beneath the hem of her dress as she came toward him.

“So did I. Perhaps we can have a few private lessons soon.” He snaked an arm about her waist when she drifted close. The faint scent of lavender and vanilla teased his nose. “Would you like that?”

“I would.” Her grin widened, and his world temporarily tilted. “You have the look of a man who has made a decision and is better for it.”

He frowned. “Perhaps I have.” Did he have the courage to speak to his feelings a second time?

Would she hurt him again? His focus fractured when she laid a palm against his chest. The ring he’d given to her at their nuptial ceremony winked in the soft candlelight.

In a few moments, he would have her in his bed, and if he were fortunate, they wouldn’t leave until well after the sun rose tomorrow morning.

“Duncan?” One of her blonde eyebrows rose, but amusement sparkled in those stormy blue-gray eyes he adored. “May I ask something of you?”

“Of course. Anything.” He trailed a hand down her back, and the heat of her seeped through the thin night clothes.

“Could you see your way to…” A nervous giggle escaped her. “That is to say, do you think you might try to…” She tugged at the buttons on his jacket of green superfine. “Put a babe in my belly? A real one, so we might be a real family?”

“What?” He could scarcely breathe from the sudden overwhelming emotions that crowded into his throat.

“Me, a father. It has long been a dream.” Duncan stared, unable to immediately comprehend the magnitude of how their lives might change.

Did he trust her enough for that? “I… are we ready for that next step?”

She laid a palm against his cheek. There was nothing but honesty and hope reflected in the blue pools of her eyes. “We were going to couple tonight, were we not?”

“Yes, but—”

“And you weren’t planning to withdraw or even wear a sheath, correct?”

“No, of course not, yet—”

“Then falling pregnant might be a natural side effect of enjoying each other’s bodies, yes?” A trace of tears rose into her eyes. “Please, Duncan. We are married. I truly believe you and I have a chance of enjoying a lovely union, but I need to know that you trust me… after everything.”

“Well, damn.” Why couldn’t he adequately speak his emotions?

Not knowing the answers as he struggled, Duncan laid his hand over hers, turned his head, and then pressed a kiss into her palm.

“Yes, I trust you.” Since meeting her, he’d experienced a world much different than his own, and he craved that simplicity.

“I am learning how to be a better man… because of you.” The muscles in his throat worked as he tugged her into his arms and held her.

“Does that mean while we are figuring out how to work together as husband and wife, you might wish to be a father too?” she whispered into his ear.

Did he? When he thought back to that week in Surrey when he’d thought he would have that very dream and how wonderful it had made him feel, how he wanted to feel that again, he slowly nodded. “Yes. I would like that, and… I want that life. To make you proud of me.”

To make his family proud of him.

“Oh, Duncan.” Holding his head between her hands, Phoebe pulled back enough to peer into his eyes. “I am that already, and the more time we spend together, the more I know what an amazing man you are, and will be.”

“Thank you. That means so much.” Damn, he never realized how much he needed someone in his life to believe in him, just as he was.

She rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. “Never let anyone make you feel small or tell you that you don’t matter because you aren’t doing something they think you should. That is the lie.”

A trace of moisture went into his eyes. “I appreciate that… appreciate you .” Then, because he couldn’t stand it another moment longer, Duncan settled her back into his arms and kissed her, drank from her, showed her without words how much she meant to him.

Tangling his hands into her long, blonde tresses, he urged her head backward and deepened the embrace.

Silk slid along satin as their tongues danced and dueled.

Tiny fires erupted through his blood and that heat fueled his hunger for her.

Easily, he tugged at the ties of her robe and urged it from her shoulders.

The thin material fell with a whisper to the floor.

Her fingers plucked at the buttons of his jacket.

A low growl escaped him, for he was obliged to break the kiss to shed the garment only to toss it to the floor.

Phoebe slipped behind him with a throaty giggle, where she worked the ties of his waistcoat and helped him off with the piece of clothing.

He didn’t offer a protest when she yanked the shirttails from his breeches.

Then her fingers glanced over his skin beneath the shirt, dancing, stroking, caressing, and he thought he might die from the heaven of that touch.

It was what he’d craved since they’d come together in Surrey.

“Phoebe…” Both needing to feel her everywhere on his person and not wanting her to extend the torture, he removed the shirt. “I want you.”

“I haven’t bid you nay, Frampton.” The way those sultry tones uttered his title had his shaft hardening faster than if she’d teased it.

While she held his gaze, Phoebe slowly, so damn slowly, took off the thin night dress.

When it pooled on the floor at her bare feet, a breath shuddered from him. “Do you think you’ll delay any longer?”

Oh, dear God.

“I rather doubt it.” His shirt came off in record time, but the breeches proved problematic when he got a foot stuck in one of the legs.

She watched him with a mix of amusement and desire in her expression, but finally he had the foot free and kicked out of the garment.

Seconds later, he joined her beneath the bedclothes and covered her body with his.

And it was like being welcomed home all over again.