Page 54 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

Amelia’s soft voice had the very effect of dispersing the mist of her fantasies like the harsh sun. Phoebe’s eyes flew wide open and she immediately sat up, only to recall that Charles had all but torn through her flimsy nightclothes the night before.

A sudden warmth flooded her cheeks as she grasped at her blanket to cover her chest.

“Is it morning already?” she gasped.

The maid nodded, looking a bit confused, before a knowing smile spread across her face. Amelia immediately ducked her head and turned around, much to Phoebe’s relief and chagrin.

“His Lordship has informed us that you are not to be disturbed,” she told her mistress.

“His Lordship?” Phoebe echoed.

The maid nodded. “He said so at breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Phoebe blinked, and then, her eyes widened. “Breakfast!”

She hastily threw the covers off and grabbed her robe, turning around as she tied the sash around her waist so that Amelia would not see the sorry state it was currently in.

As if she would not see it later, the sly voice in her head taunted her.

After all, itwaspart of the duties of a lady’s maid to see to the mending of her clothes whenever it was necessary.

Thankfully, it was also part of Amelia’s duties to not speak a word of it to her mistress—or anyone else, for that matter.

Phoebe quickly washed her face and her arms and allowed Amelia to help her into a day dress. She squirmed a little as she sat through the styling of her hair, though, eager to be off to see Charles in the breakfast room.

She fairly bolted out of the room with a hastily muttered “thank you” to Amelia, skipping past the corridor lined with Montgomery ancestors looking down at her in disapproval. She was halfway down the stairs when the first niggling doubt entered her mind.

What do I say to him?

Phoebe nearly toppled over the last three steps when that question sprung up in her thoughts.

Indeed, just what was she going to tell him when she saw him? Was it customary for ladies to thank their husbands for the pleasure they wrought on their untutored bodies? Should she praise him for his excellent skill?

Phoebe frowned at that. Charles had always appeared to be a man in control. Naturally, he should have been very much in control of his faculties during their…encounter.

Or was he?

Somehow, the hunger in his kiss, the urgency with which he pressed his body against hers—those things did not speak of control. Not to Phoebe, anyway.

And if hedidlose even just a bit of his mythical control, she would admit to taking a perverse sort of pleasure in that fact.

She steadied herself as she approached the door to the breakfast room. Her knees were fairly knocking into each other as one of the servants opened the door for her.

She took a deep breath before stepping inside—only to find that Charles wasnotat the head of the table, as he had been for the past few days.

In fact, he was not in the breakfast roomat all.

She looked in confusion towards the only other soul in that sunny room with its open curtains and a table spread with every breakfast fare known to man.

“Huxley,” she addressed the butler. “Where is the Marquess?”

It could have just been her imagination, but the butler looked slightly uncomfortable at the question.

“His, ah, Lordship, had something else to attend to,” he managed to eke out.

She nodded slowly as she took her seat. “I see.”

But the fact of the matter was that she didnotsee.