“Your Grace,” Fitz practically growled.
“Mr. Jennings,” the Duke drawled. “I have been keeping your lovely wife company. We have been having the most…delectable of conversations.”
Fitz’s lips flattened. “Thank you for being so solicitous, but I will take it from here.” His words were as stiff as his bow to the Duke.
Her husband’s hand flexed on her back, and she didn’t even have time to curtsy her farewell before he was already discreetly guiding her down the wall toward the exit of the ballroom.
“You will pay for that little show, wife,” he murmured, lethally soft.
She practically vibrated with anticipation.
She really, really,reallyhoped she would.
GEORGIANA’S BACK COLLIDED with the wall in the dimly lit chamber, the first empty room at the Chesterfields’ that she and Fitz had found. Her husband stood feet in front of her, his chest rising and falling rapidly, breath bursting from him. His cheekbones were tinted with a flush, his amber eyes pure fire. He clenched and unclenched his fists. She shivered.
“The Duke, Gigi?” He whispered the question, the promise of retribution sharp in his gravelly voice.
She dipped her chin, looking at him from beneath her lashes. “It was nothing, Mr. Jennings. I swear it.”
“He. Touched. You.” His palm slammed against the wall next to her head.
Oh, heavens. The vibration of the wall reverberated straight through to her core. They’d played this game before. But never with the Duke. She was going to be fucked so hard for this. She couldn’t wait.
“He was merely being p-polite.” Her words stumbled as his teeth grazed the shell of her ear.
His free hand slid up her body, skipping over the spots that craved his touch the most. She tried to arch into his hand when he reached her breast, but he denied her. He skipped on past until his hand settled around her throat, his thumb pushing up her chin, so she was forced to meet his penetrating gaze. His amber irises churned dangerously, like a glass of swirling whisky.
“There is only one man who touches you.”
Her heart rattled in her chest, her pants echoing harshly in the quiet room.
“Who is that man, Gigi?”
Lord, she was supposed to be able to form words right now?
His hand flexed on her neck, and her knees went weak. “You answer me when I ask you a question,” he demanded.
“Y-you. Mr. Jennings.”
“Better,” he praised, and she preened. His lips brushed over hers, his thumb gently caressing the edge of her jaw.
This man. He knew the exact right balance of punishment and praise. At first, he’d told her it was because he was nervous he was being too hard with her. He needed to offset it with softness. She’d eagerly informed him she loved the combination. He’d grown more bold, more confident. Her husband was nothing if not a quick study. And nothing made her heart swell—and her core pulse—more than a self-assured Fitz.
Her lips tingled with want. He hadn’t granted her more than that one soft brush of his lips. And she was dying. She licked her aching lips, and his gaze dipped. But he denied her. He stepped back, her body going cold. She whimpered.
His hands went to his cravat, tugging, loosening the fabric. His bored gaze scanned her from head to toe, his mouth turned down, contempt arching his brows.
“You were flirting with him.” He pulled his cravat free. “In full view of theton. Like a fucking harlot.”
She sagged against the wall.Yum.
He squeezed his hands into fists and let out a slow breath. She nearly smiled. He still struggled with the degradation. The things he said were delicious, the most sumptuous of desserts, but she thought he might still surprise himself each time something so cruel fled his lips.
“Is that what you are? A harlot, wife?” He stepped toward her, closing the distance. His features tightened, his gaze so sharp it was cutting.
She shook her head adamantly, her coiffure jostling dangerously.
His hands shot to her waist, and he spun her, pinning her chest flat against the wall. She turned, her cheek sliding along the smooth wall covering, trying to meet his gaze. He yanked her arms together behind her back, and cloth slid against her wrists, then cinched tight. Her body trembled, anticipation roaring through her ears, coursing through her veins.
