What a Duke Dares (Sons of Sin 3)

He had the grace to look abashed. “I know. But with Elias so determined to travel this afternoon, it was my only chance to ask.”

“And you couldn’t have waited?” She lowered her voice so the words wouldn’t carry to Cam. An hour married and already she deceived her husband. What was to become of her? “How long is Lady Sophie in Northumberland?”

Woe descended upon Harry like a cloud upon a mountain. “At least a month.”

For a young man of Harry’s passionate temperament, a month must feel like eternity. “Let me think about it.”

“Thank you, Pen.” Harry beamed. “I knew you’d come up trumps.”

She frowned. “I’m not promising anything. I can see this turning into a disaster for everyone involved, including Cam.”

“Pen, our guests await,” Cam said.

“I’m coming.” She narrowed her eyes at Harry. “Don’t do anything rash until I’m back in Town.”

And not then either, she prayed. The last thing Cam needed was his ramshackle Thorne connections kicking up trouble.

She hadn’t had long to come to terms with the truth that despite years of running like a scared rabbit, she was Cam’s duchess. But one thing she swore was that she’d do her best to make him proud. Now before the ink on her marriage lines had dried, Harry’s chaotic affairs threatened scandal. But if Harry genuinely loved Sophie and she genuinely loved him, could Pen deny them a happiness that she’d never find?

“Pen?” Cam’s tone would have set the servants scurrying.

“I’ll see, Harry. That’s the best I can do,” she whispered. Feeling beleaguered and inadequate, and not remotely bridal, she turned. With heavy steps, she walked in her unbecoming borrowed clothes toward her husband.

Chapter Eighteen

Carrying two brandies, Cam entered the duchess’s apartments. Candlelight flickered over the birds and pagodas on the unfashionable silk wallpaper. The last woman to sleep in these luxurious rooms had been his tempestuous, troublesome mother, who had died when he was seventeen.

The cavernous space could house an army. A crackling fire in the hearth warmed the air. The four-poster bed on its platform looked as wide as a parade ground. By contrast, the woman propped against the piled pillows appeared small and fragile.

Warily Pen watched him cross the acres of floor between door and bed. Nor could he miss how her long, slender fingers curled like talons in the brocade counterpane covering her to the waist.

She’d been as brittle as a dry twig all day. He could kick himself for making his bride so nervous. His clumsiness on the Windhover had much to answer for. He wasn’t unhappy about this marriage, but he was damned unhappy that Pen was. He prayed that he could awaken her passion and make her forget everything except the desire that had raged unsatisfied between them for weeks.

Her glorious night-dark hair cascaded over her slender shoulders. Her white batiste nightgown was sheer as mist. While it tied decorously where her pulse fluttered in her neck, that was the limit of its modesty. Her high, firm breasts pressed against the transparent material.

His hands twitched as if he already touched her luscious flesh. Beneath the crimson velvet robe embroidered with gold dragons, he was naked. And ready.

He felt more uncertain than usual with a paramour. But Pen wasn’t just a paramour. She was his wife. His duchess.

Tonight he meant to convince her that she wanted no lover but him. Any niggle that he didn’t bed a virgin faded as her black gaze burned a line down his body. Her lingering survey might convey caution rather than desire, but his body surged. If her eyes had such power, God help him when she laid those pale hands upon his skin.

“Is that brandy for me?” Nerves added seductive huskiness to her voice.

“Yes.” With a pang, Cam noticed how unsteady her hand was as she accepted the glass. Another reminder to take this gradually. He mustered a reassuring smile and gestured to the edge of the bed. “May I?”

Her lips twisted, not in a smile. “It’s your bed.”

“Our bed. I endowed thee with all my worldly goods today.” His gaze unwavering, he sat. He should have expected this ambivalence. She wanted him, but she was far from reconciled to a lifetime with him.

“Thank you,” she said dully.

“You’re welcome.” Hell, he needed to lighten this oppressive atmosphere.

Her lush mouth glistened with brandy. He burned to lick away the liquor, then drink the headier wine of her kiss. But instinct urged him to go carefully. “Pen, please smile. You’re terrifying me.”

To his relief, her lips curved with faint amusement. “The great Duke of Sedgemoor, afraid?”

“I want to do this right.”