Page 64 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

Was he here to…?

Snippets of her dream flooded into her mind—of their naked flesh entwined together upon the silken sheets, his mouth and his hands roving all over her body, claiming her as his.Brandingher…

“I had the kitchens prepare a suitable breakfast for us,” he told her with a slight smile. It was only then that she realized that he had been holding a large basket all this time. “We are going on a picnic,” he announced.

She blinked at him in confusion. Did she just hear what she just heard?

“I have been told that there is a spot by the brook that is ideal for a picnic,” he mumbled, a faint pink rising up to his cheeks.

“You did?”

He nodded. “The past few days have not been conducive to an outing, but the ground has dried up now. However, if you prefer to stay indoors—”

“I would love to go out on a picnic with you!” she enthused.

Perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

But she did not care—he actually listened to her and prepared a picnic for her!

She threw the covers back joyfully and slid her feet into the slippers waiting at her bedside.

“But I have not done my morning ablutions yet! And whatever should I wear?” she fretted. “Perhaps I should summon Amelia—”

“Phoebe.”

She skidded to a halt at the sound of his deep voice. Did he think her too juvenile for reacting in such a way?

“You will look wonderful no matter what you wear,” he reassured her softly. “Besides, it will only be the both of us—”

He was interrupted by an indignant meow coming from the feline at his feet. Phoebe felt the mirth bubbling up in her chest as she picked Whiteson up.

“He cannot come with us,” Charles warned her. “I will not be dissuaded.”

She smiled happily at him. “I know. Which is whyyoumust stay here,” she told Whiteson. “Stand guard, if you must.Outsidemy bedchamber this time.”

“I have heard of guard dogs, but I have never heard of guard cats.”

“Oh, I assure you, they can be just as ferocious.”

“I have no doubt those claws of his will shred my face into ribbons if he was disposed to using them in such a manner,” Charles remarked with a cynical look at the cat.

Phoebe merely grinned as she set Whiteson back onto the carpeted floor. “I am certain he likes you just as much as he likes me.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other. In the light of the rising sun, he almost looked like a dark god—brilliant as daylight itself, but just as mysterious as the moon.

He held his hand out to her. “Come. Let us be off.”

She smiled and slipped her hand into his. She would entrust her future, hereverythingto him.

This was Charles Montgomery—her husband.

“Yes,” she giggled. “But let me get out of my nightclothes first. I cannot go about traipsing in these!”

“I can just order everyone not to look,” he replied with an arrogant tilt of his chin. “Or threaten to put out their eyes if they dare so much as hazard a glance.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You cannot do that, I am afraid. This is no longer the medieval period.”

“How unfortunate,” he muttered dryly. “Very well then…”