Page 29 of Bride of the Fae Duke

‘I’d say so, yes.’ He rubbed his temple, forcing out his next words despite feeling inexplicably disgruntled about them. ‘Of course, now that we know the start of your monthly cycle, we could probably take a break of a week and a half. Since Lord Heartstrong says—’

‘Lord Heartstrong says it’sunlikelyto conceive in those first ten days,’ she interrupted in a pressing whisper. ‘He doesn’t say it’simpossible. So if we want to give ourselves the best chance …’

Oh.

The best chance.

Of course – and of coursethatwas what made him feel so much lighter at once, the prospect of a quick resolution to this cursed business. He was lucky, wasn’t he, to have found a collaborator as eager to succeed as he was? Surelythatwas where this sudden surge of fondness was coming from, simple gratefulness for her devotion …

‘Good point,’ he heard himself say as he nodded. ‘Yes, that is a very good point.’

Her face lit up. ‘It really is, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Yes, absolutely. It … Yes.’

Another small silence fell.

She did not look away – watching him with eyes both eager and fearful. It made him feel oddly self-aware, that look. As if she was seeing someone else in his place – someone better. Someone braver. Someone who hadn’t killed six women with nothing but his battered, blood-stained heart.

What was she hoping for?

For him to be anything else than lethal poison?

He coughed again, pushing that thought from his mind. ‘Do I just see you as usual, then?’

‘Ah.’ She blushed, averting her face as if the question had shaken her sense of time back into her. ‘I was thinking— Well, perhaps not tonight. I’ll bleed all over your sheets, and those stains are a nightmare to get out.’

Not what she’d wanted him to say, then … and yet he didn’t manage to stop himself, baser urges moving his lips as he muttered, ‘The bathtub is significantly easier to clean, may I remind you.’

‘Oh.’ Her eyes snapped back to him, narrowing in unmistakable interest. ‘Rather scandalous, husband.’

‘I’m only trying to be pragmatic,’ he retorted – which was, admittedly, a shameless lie. But the truth … Even if he shouldn’t think of her as a wife to honour and cherish, it felt like crossing some line to tell her in the bright light of day what the vision of her pretty arse bent over his bathtub was doing to his nether parts. ‘The best chance, remember?’

‘Of course, of course.’ Her blush really didn’t help matters at all. ‘How about tomorrow night, in that case?’

He quirked up his eyebrows. ‘Not tonight?’

‘Well, I was wondering …’ The pink on her cheeks deepened to a beguiling cherry red. Ah. They were getting to the core of the matter, then. ‘Since I’m slightly indisposed, I wondered ifperhaps you might like to have dinner tonight? Just once, of course. Just … just …’

He stared at her.

‘I figured it couldn’t do much harm,’ she stammered, deer-brown eyes trained on the cuff of his sleeve. ‘We don’t have to talk about anything important, and I assure you my table manners will inspire the absolute opposite of fondness in you. But there are a few things I’ve been meaning to ask you about the house, and they don’t seem entirely suitable to discuss while you’re …’ She cleared her throat, threw another look around the hall, then leaned in half an inch towards him and whisper-breathed, ‘While you’resitting balls deep inside me.’

His laughter burst out of him with the force of a thunderclap, echoing back at him from the walls and ceiling.

Hell’s sake. He’d forgotten how it sounded, his own amusement – but that grin growing on her face made it suddenly easy to remember, a fraction smug and naughty in a way that sent another rush of blood into his loins. He could only hope she didn’t glance down; his cock was starting to tent his breeches.

‘So?’ she prodded, her voice still conspiratorially low. ‘Will you have dinner with me?’

He should not – he really should not. Hadn’t he learned anything from these six damned deaths, Rosamund dangling in the attic, Colette’s broken body at the foot of the stairs? Tomorrow a bust might drop off a shelf and hit Eleanor on the head. A cart might run her over in the street. The curse would always loom around every corner, and he should know so, so much better than to invite it at his table.

Then again …

His friends were still alive. His servants were still alive.

And he didn’t want to love and cherish her, this little sunray in human flesh before him. He just wanted to bask in her warmth.

‘Just this once, then,’ he heard himself say, and her little squeal of delight made it worth every second he’d lie awake over the choice. ‘I’ll see you at eight.’

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