Page 47 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

Only Phoebe had managed to evoke them from him.

As he opened the door to his bedchamber, he wondered briefly if he would even be able to sleep at all tonight. Of late, all he could think about when he saw his bed was the tangle of their naked limbs upon the pristine sheets.

The sweat glistening off her skin as he surged into her sweet warmth.

The delicious moans that would fill the cold silence of his bedchamber.

He had the distinct feeling that sleep would be a long time coming to him tonight.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Perhaps she should just learn to accept it—sleep was not coming to her tonight. Neither was peace of mind.

In fact, it would seem thatneitherof them would be coming in the next week. Or month.

Or anytime soon.

Phoebe groaned as she turned her face into her pillow and let out a long, loud scream borne out of the intense frustration boiling in her chest. She could not believe that she had done the absolute impossible.

She had kissed her husband. She had kissedCharles Montgomery.

And he hadkissed her back—there was no denying that.

She admitted that she had been furious at first. Combined with the frustration that had been brewing within her for heavens only knew how long… well, her Mama had always warned her not to lose her temper, and lose it, she did.

Spectacularly.

But did she regret it? Absolutely not.

Phoebe might be ignorant in many things, but thankfully not so much as to overlook what had happened tonight. After learning to flirt within an inch of her life, she had managed to wrangle a kiss from her stoic husband—and what a kiss it was!

It was like being thrown into a hurricane. Like being tossed about in a stormy sea.

Only, she certainly enjoyed the thrill it sparked in her body more than she did a natural disaster.

So, he is not as unfeeling towards me as he seems, she thought with a silly grin.

That was not to say, of course, that Charles was pleased with the outcome of tonight’s events. He had been furious when he discovered her missing and no doubt, he was even more furious after that stunt she pulled.

She sat up in bed with a frown on her face.

“He is going to want to avoid me,” she pondered to herself. “And that simply willnotdo.”

But what to do about it? From what she knew about her husband ever since she moved into Wentworth Park, he could be just as stubborn as she was. Maybe even more so.

Phoebe, however, could be quite persistent herself. Perhaps it remained to be seen just who could be more tenacious between the two of them.

“I cannot lose,” she muttered to herself as she swept her legs off the bed and slid her feet into her slippers. “But I cannot sleep right now, either.”

She grabbed her robe draped over a nearby chair and wrapped it around her lacy night shift—a gift from her mother, as part of her trousseau. She recalled how Daphne had smiled slyly at her when they saw that particular addition to her wardrobe. Phoebe, however, had felt that it was a rather frivolous item of clothing.

Pretty, yes, but certainly impractical.

Especially without a husband to admire it on me, a quiet voice taunted in her head.

Phoebe smiled grimly. She had lived with that voice for the better part of her life. It had been especially loud after she made her bow, and then at every social event thereafter.

Back then, she had listened to it. Feared it even.