Page 37 of Claiming His Lost Duchess
Joan forced a smile for her daughter's sake. “Yes, darling. It seems your papa has been very generous.”
The word 'papa' still felt strange on her tongue, but Sophia's face lit up every time Joan used it, so she had been trying to make an effort. The child had taken to calling Graham by the title so naturally that Joan hadn't had the heart to dissuade her.
Within moments, Joan found herself surrounded by a flurry of activity as Madame Dubois and her two assistants transformed the sitting room into a temporary atelier. Fabrics in every conceivable color and texture were draped over chairs andtables, while the modiste herself, a sharp-featured woman with penetrating dark eyes, circled Joan like a predator evaluating prey.
“Magnifique,” Madame Dubois murmured in her heavily accented English, running her experienced gaze over Joan's figure. “You've got the perfect form for my designs. Tall enough to carry ze dramatic lines, but with ze feminine curves to make ze men weep with desire.”
Joan blushed furiously at the frank assessment. “I hardly think that's necessary – “
“Nonsense!” the modiste interrupted, beginning to take measurements with brisk efficiency. “You are ze Duchess of Rutledge now, non? You must look ze part. Ze Duke, 'e 'as excellent taste. 'E specified that you should 'ave gowns in the finest shades of blue – 'e said it would make your eyes sparkle like jewels.”
The casual mention of Graham's attention to such intimate details made Joan's breath catch. He had noticed the color of her eyes? When had he been studying her so closely?
“Tell me,” Madame Dubois continued as she worked, her tone shifting to something more secretive, “Ow did you manage to capture ze heart of such a man? Ze Duke of Rutledge, 'e was considered quite ze prize on ze marriage mart, but 'e never showed interest in any of ze young ladies who threw themselves at 'is feet.”
Joan's cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I... we met quite by chance. At a park. It was... love at first sight.”
The lie felt heavy on her tongue, but it was the story she and Graham had agreed upon. It was simpler than explaining the truth about their complicated history.
“Ah, romance!” Madame Dubois sighed dramatically. “But surely zere must 'ave been somezing special about you to make such a proud Scotsman fall so 'ard and so fast. Ze gossips, they say 'e married you within days of meeting you.”
“Papa is the nicest man in the whole world,” Sophia piped up from where she was examining a bolt of rose-colored silk. “He reads to me and teaches me Scottish words, and he promised to teach me to ride horses when I'm bigger!”
Madame Dubois raised an eyebrow with interest. “Ah, so ze little one, she 'as already claimed 'im as 'er papa? 'Ow sweet. But surely it must be difficult for a man to take on another man's child so willingly?”
Joan's hands clenched involuntarily. “Sophia is – “
“My daughter, in every way that matters,” came Graham's deep voice from the doorway.
Everyone in the room turned to look at him, and Joan felt her breath catch at the sight of him. Even in simple day clothes,he commanded attention with his tall frame, and those intense green eyes of his seemed to see everything.
“Your Grace!” Madame Dubois exclaimed, dropping into a curtsy. “I was just telling your beautiful wife 'ow fortunate she is to 'ave found such a devoted 'usband.”
“I'm the fortunate one,” Graham said, his eyes finding Joan's across the room. “Might I have a word with my wife privately?”
The modiste immediately began shepherding her assistants toward the adjoining chamber. “Bien sûr! Come, mes chéries, we will work on ze little one's measurements while ze Duke and Duchess 'ave their private moment.”
Sophia skipped after them happily, chattering about wanting a dress “just like a princess,” leaving Joan alone with her husband in a room that suddenly felt far too intimate.
Graham's eyes moved over her slowly, taking in her form, with a simple nothing but her dressing gown for cover, and loose hair. Joan was acutely aware that she was wearing nothing but her chemise and corset beneath the thin silk, and the weight of his gaze made her skin feel warm and sensitive, as though he was already touching her.
She had done her best to forget their wedding night, wishing to prevent such thoughts from taking root in her head, but she could not help but fixate on it when her mind was far too weak to resist sometimes. He had made no move to touch her since then,and she had begun to yearn for him, wanting the warmth of his skin on hers once more.
But that was asking for trouble, desiring such. Letting him control her body like that would only lead to her undoing.
“You look beautiful,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him.
Joan wrapped her arms around herself self-consciously. “I wasn't expecting company. If I had known about the modiste – “
“You're upset,” Graham observed, moving closer.
“I'm not upset,” Joan said quickly, then caught herself. “I simply... I would have appreciated being consulted about such an expensive undertaking.”
“Would you have agreed?”
The question was asked mildly, but Joan heard the underlying challenge. She lifted her chin. “That's not the point.”
“Is it not?” Graham took another step closer, close enough that Joan could smell his cologne – a warm musk that was weighed by an undertone of masculinity that made her think of their wedding night. “I think you would have found reasons to refuse. You would have claimed the expense was unnecessary, or that you didn't deserve such finery.”
