Page 34 of Dukes Are Forever
He completed the cravat—a task he never allowed Simmons to do—but his attention kept returning to the door as a maid gasped in shock behind it.
What the devil was going on in there?
"Has my wife broken her fast?" With blue bloods sleeping through most of the day and carrying out their revelries at night, London society had evolved to fit their schedules.
But sometimes Adele was out of bed early enough in the day to have it still be deemed morning.
"I believe she has, Your Grace. She's been about for several hours."
"Causing mayhem?"
Simmons coughed politely into his hand. "I believe it could be considered so. Will that be everything, Your Grace?"
Malloryn dismissed Simmons with a wave of his hand and moved toward that bloody door. He paused a moment before he turned the key. There was only one, of course, and it resided firmly upon this side.
There was absolutely no reason doing this should make him feel as though he crossed an irrevocable line. It was just a door. But he paused all the same. With a soft click, he eased the door open, encountering mayhem.
The duchess's chambers were in an uproar. Silk and velvet swathed everything. Hats cascaded across the divan and the carpets. Feathers and gowns adorned the bed.
And in the center of it all stood his wife, gowned in an exquisite concoction of seafoam green that made her look pure and innocent, all soft ruffles and a gauzy bodice overlay that hid the smoldering curves that were her best weapon. Curly hair bound back in a loose chignon. Breathtaking, to be sure, but... hardly the sort of battle visage he'd expected. Innocence wasn't the sort of thing to entice a man like him, and she'd made it clear she intended to bring him to his knees by fair means or foul.
Four maids stared at him with wide-eyed horror.
Adele hadn't noticed. No, she was too busy flinging her armoire open and considering the contents.
"Good grief," she said, hauling out a filmy nightgown she dropped on the floor. "What was I thinking?"
Adele tossed something behind her, and he caught it before it hit him in the face, glancing once at the four maids in dismissal. They bobbed a hasty deference and practically fled, and that was when his wife finally noticed him.
She spun in a swirl of green skirts.
"A little early for spring cleaning, isn't it?" Malloryn opened his bare hand.
Silk. The palest of pinks, edged with frothy white lace. A frilly little peignoir with lace so thin across the bodice it would be...
See-through.
Aha. There was the first strike. His gaze slowly shifted back to Adele.
She blew a curl off her forehead, hands on her hips. "Did you know, I actually thought I would need a wedding trousseau. I wanted to please you." She rolled her eyes. "I promised myself I would be the best wife you could imagine. I would strap myself into pretty white corsets and lacy chemises that would make the veriest maid blush. I would do my duties, lie back and think of England—"
"You do think of England quite a lot," he mused. "A sacrificial martyr on my altar?"
"It sounds silly, doesn't it? What would the Duke of Malloryn do with such an insipid creature? She was becoming quite maudlin, but I'm tired of playing that Adele. She was a fool who miscalculated rather badly. It's time to become the new Adele."
"Oh?" He belatedly discarded the garment—if it could be called such a thing—into the trunk with all the others.
The impression of the silk lingered against his skin.
"Do tell," he murmured, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Does this new Adele have a certain agenda?"
"She might. I've made an appointment with Lena's modiste, Madame Lefoux."
"Madame Lefoux?" He failed to understand. "I've never encountered her name, I'm afraid."
"A pity. Every husband should know Madame Lefoux's efforts at least once in their lives."
Malloryn's gaze sharpened upon her at the sultry sound of her voice.
