Page 108 of How to Deceive a Duke

Chapter 39

London, 1822

Iken. I’m running late,” Fiona said as she hurried into their bedchamber, dusting her hands on her breeches. It had been a good day in the lab. She was close, so close, to having a product worthy of a patent. But the heady thrill of success meant the day had escaped her.

Edward turned away from the full-length mirror he was using as he buttoned his cuff, his eyes going wide when he saw her. “Tell me you’re not going dressed like that.”

“Ha ha. Very amusing.” She was already untying the neck of her shirt as she crossed to give him a quick kiss. He sank his fingers into her hair and the kiss lingered, the warmth of which made her wish they had more time.

She pulled away. She had to dress. As she took a step backward, she caught her reflection in the mirror and her own eyes went wide. She’d known about the soft grey ash that covered her from shoulder to hip. She’d forgotten that the earlier accident had covered her face with it also. Only where she had wiped it away from her eyes and her mouth was free from the powder.

“I am going to be really late.”

Edward nodded. “You are,” he said as he pulled the service cord. “But you can probably convince the French ambassador that powdered hair is coming back into fashion.”

She pulled off her shirt and unlaced her breeches, conscious of Edward’s sharp intake of air at the sight of her in her stays and drawers. He stepped toward her, his hands reaching for her hips. “Nae,” she said as she moved away from his grasp. “You are ready to go. You dunnae want ash marring your clothes when you’re looking so perfect.”

And he was looking perfect. He’d chosen to wear all black—a midnight aesthetic accentuated with star-like diamonds that made the deep blue of his eyes flare to life. Thank God for formal dinners and men’s evening wear. She would spend the next six hours half thinking about how beautiful he looked and half thinking about how much more beautiful he’d look the moment they retired.

A housemaid entered with a pitcher of hot water, and Fiona began to quickly wipe herself down.

“Do I want to know how you ended up looking like Great Aunt Gertrude’s ghost?” he asked as he crossed to her wardrobe.

“Green one, please,” she said, gesturing to the two dresses he held up, and then turning back to the chore of cleaning herself. “The cylinder was nae tightened properly. It burst open when I pulled the trigger.” She’d spent months designing a device that would put out fires, using a combination of compressed air and pearl ash. Getting the right pressure in the copper cylinder was proving to be the tricky part.

She grabbed her chemise from where it hung over the back of her dressing table chair and slipped it on. Edward assisted her with the rest. “You should go down,” she said as he started on her buttons. “Send Mrs. Phillips to help.”

Edward shrugged. “Charlotte has it all in hand. She’s charmed every diplomat in England. We could be two hours late and they probably wouldn’t notice, they’re so besotted with her.”

Char had been a godsend this past year. When she finally decided to accept one of the many proposals that seemed to flow constantly, Fiona was going to miss her presence dearly.

Edward sat on the bed and watched as Fiona ran some kohl against her lashes and dusted some rouge across her cheeks and lips. “We really do need to discuss the king’s treaty during dinner tonight,” he said. “We got nowhere with it when the ambassador visited last week.”

“Aye. I ken. But it is not my fault that the ambassador likes to tinker with things. He’s very proud of his creations.” Last week he’d given her a hand-carved jewelry box with a unique type of catch. It was an impressive effort for a man who typically worked with words and not hands.

Finally, she pulled her long red curls into a simple queue and adorned it with jeweled clips. It was far from the fashionable coiffures that most women of thetonsported, but it was easy and practical. She simply did not have time to spend sitting in front of a mirror while a maid did her hair.

Thankfully, society had come to accept the fact that the Duchess of Wildeforde did not do things quite the way others expected. She was no longer “singular” or “odd.” Instead,The Timesfound words likeuniqueandunprecedented. Fi did not care a whit what the gossips called her, but she was grateful that the scandal had subsided and Charlotte’s prospects had come through unscathed.

She stood, keen to head downstairs and get to a different kind of work. “Are you ready?” she asked, holding an arm out to her husband.

He took her arm and used it to pull her against him, her body flush against his, his hand on her arse. He captured her mouth in a deep kiss, exploring her with his tongue and setting every molecule of her on fire. Her hand gripped his shoulder, her fingers digging into his dress coat.

By the time he broke away, her head was spinning. “Now I’m ready.”