Page 49 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

But even that could not calm the sudden sense of excitement that thudded in her chest.

Unlike that other night, someone was actually in the room beneath the trapdoor tonight, if that flickering light was any indication.

Could it be Charles?

Phoebe recalled the strange contraptions she had seen there once. She had never seen them before and had absolutely no idea what they were supposedly for.

Were they truly torture devices that her husband used on some prisoners?

If they were, then just who was Charles torturing, and why would he need to do that? She felt that her husband was simply not the type of person to do something without reason.

If he was insane, then there had to be some sort of method to his madness.

Phoebe held her breath as she cautiously approached the trapdoor. She heard a loud thud and her heart jumped in her chest.

Dear God in heaven, that sounds very much like flesh meeting against something!

She knew she should turn back—Charles himself had warned her to stay away from this secret room of his. Nervously, she had agreed then.

But that same nervousness was nowhere to be found. Perhaps it had gone to that same distant place her logic and common sense had flown off to.

Instead, all she felt was a thrill. As if she was some explorer on the verge of making a very important discovery…

If Charles truly was a murderer, then she supposed that she had every right to know just what her husband was up to—as foolhardy as that sounded.

Lips pressed into a grim line, Phoebe reached out to open the trapdoor as the strange thuds resounded in quick succession, almost falling into some kind of rhythm. Quietly, she tiptoed down the stairs, squinting in the dim lighting.

As her eyes adjusted to the flickering light provided by a lone lamp, her mouth fell open in a short scream.

Charles stiffened at the sound of that soft scream, his muscles going taut at the slightest hint of danger. He whirled around, ready to face the intruder, his eyes cold and steely.

Only for his mouth to hang open at the sight before him.

“What,” he asked in a low, dangerous voice. “…areyoudoing here?”

Standing before him was none other than his delectable wife—the very same one who had carelessly teased him just a few hours prior.

The same wife who had driven him to seek the diversion of this secret room because he could hardly sleep even after he had physically relieved himself of the torment that she had wrought on him.

However, it seemed as if Phoebe was just not done teasing him yet.

Her hair was deliciously unbound, falling down her delicate shoulders in wanton waves that begged for his fingers to sink into them. And—good God—what was that she was wearing?

Or rather—what was shenotwearing?

That robe she had wrapped around herself was as thin as a spider’s web, barely leaving enough to the imagination—well, enough to tantalize him further, that was what!

He watched as she seemed to get over her initial shock at finding him there in the dead of the night. She seemed to bristle in affront, her eyes narrowing at him. She lifted her chin most defiantly and if that fire of hers did not arouse him further, then nothing ever would.

“I could ask the same of you, My Lord.”

Charles was now thoroughly convinced that Phoebe Townsend—Montgomeryhad been sent to this earth merely to cause him a carnal agony of the very worst kind.

Spinster, indeed! All of London must have gone blind if they could not see the temptress encased in that—

Well, she was barely encased inanythingas it stood—and it plagued Charles that it wasallhe could think about at the present.

That, and taking his slow, sweet time unwrapping that ridiculously flimsy attire of hers…