Morgan steeled himself. He could do this. When Lord Pomeroy had passed along the information on how their family did marriage proposals, he thought he would swallow his tongue. Propose marriage to Phoebe in front of her entire family? He’d broken into a sweat just thinking about it.

But when Pomeroy assured him that nothing would convince Phoebe that he loved her more than him stepping out of his Cold Duke persona and kneeling at her feet in front of the family, he was forced to acknowledge the truth of it.

Now he walked toward her, and for some reason, the nervousness had drained away. This was something he needed to do. Not only to convince Phoebe he truly loved her, but to assure himself that his days of holding back, of being the unreachable and untouchable cold man most everyone knew were behind him.

Phoebe had seen the true Morgan the first time she smiled at him on Oxford Street. She had seen what no one else had.

She studied him as he approached her. No smile, just curiosity. Did she think he would not do this? That he would turn tail and run, and return home to his self-imposed imprisonment? Not bloody likely. He wanted her for his wife and would do whatever it took to convince her this was right.

“What are you doing here?” She spoke softly as he reached her.

He smiled, feeling quite at ease. Strange, that. “I understand it is a tradition in your family for marriage proposals to be done in front of the entire family.”

Her brows rose to her hairline. “And you intend to do this?”

Morgan dropped to one knee and took her hand. “You assumed my declaration of love for you was a ploy to get you to marry me.” He kissed the soft skin on the back of her hand. Just then a small child sitting next to them on someone’s lap sneezed. “God bless you,” he said while still staring at Phoebe.

“I am known as The Cold Duke, yet here I am, kneeling in front of your entire family to once again tell you I love you and ask that you grant me the great honor of becoming my wife.”

Just then one of the many children present toddled over to him and rested his little body against his bent knee. A bit of drool escaped the urchin’s mouth and landed on Morgan’s breeches. He looked at the growing wet spot and cringed.

Another small child wandered over and climbed onto his back. Morgan sighed. “If nothing else, please say yes so I can stand before I am covered in biscuit crumbs and drool.”

Phoebe’s eyes filled with tears as she grinned, apparently feeling some sort of sympathy for his plight. “Yes, Your Grace. I will accept your offer of marriage.”

“Thank God.” He placed his hand on the child resting against his knee so he would not topple over and, holding onto the one draped on his back, he stood. Phoebe also rose and picked up the drooler while someone else removed the climber.

It was over. He’d done it. He turned to the crowd. “She said yes.”

Morgan was shoved forward when Lord Pomeroy smacked him on the back. “Well done, lad.”

Lad?

No one had ever called him lad.

Pomeroy rubbed his hands together. “Now it’s time for dinner.” He threw his arm around Morgan’s shoulders as he moved him forward and rambled on about how he loved having the family for dinner because his wife always made sure there was real men’s food on the table.

Although he was hungry himself, what Morgan wanted more than anything was to spend time alone with his newly betrothed and seal their engagement with a decent kiss. Instead, Phoebe was surrounded by the women of her family, all hugging, crying, and kissing each other, while he was propelled toward the dining room.

Once in the large, tastefully decorated room, he was relieved to see a few women dressed as servants descend upon them and remove the children. Tears, supplication, and tantrums ensued while the little ones were separated from the adults and taken upstairs to what Morgan assumed was the nursery.

After everyone was seated, Lady Pomeroy introduced him to the entire family, but his mind was in no place to remember them all. Because of his place in Society, he knew each one from various ton events, but hadn’t known who was which title until now. It reminded him of how very lonely and contained his life had been.

No more, however. Phoebe had taught him a very valuable lesson. Let people in, and one’s life would be much fuller. It was too bad his parents had never learned that lesson.

Phoebe sat next to him at the dinner table, with her brother-in-law, St. George, on her other side. Morgan leaned close to her ear. “I love you, Phoebe.” He hoped everything in his eyes, face, and demeanor told her the truth of his words.

“I love you too,” she said. “But I was afraid I was the only one in this relationship who did.”

“Ah, sweetheart, I believe I’ve loved you for quite a while, but being totally unfamiliar with the feeling, I kept denying it.” He covered her hand with his. “Thank you for opening my eyes.”

“And making you smile,” she added.

Her attention was immediately taken up by her mother and sisters, all anxious to talk about the upcoming wedding.

“I shall apply for a special license in the morning,” Morgan interjected above the voices of several women speaking at once and it appeared no one was going to allow him to speak.

Lady Pomeroy turned in his direction. “I think that’s best, Your Grace. Although I hate another hurried wedding—which does seem to be the norm in our family—gossip will be silenced once you are married.”

He didn’t give a whit about gossip, but a hurried wedding appealed to him so he could finally get Phoebe into bed.

“Shall I call on your mother so we can make arrangements together?” Lady Pomeroy asked.

He shook his head. “Her Grace is currently in the country, where I believe she intends to stay for some time.” No point in mentioning she was in the country at his behest. He would send a note advising her of his marriage.

He’d never been close to either of his parents, and they’d shared nothing of his life, just short interviews throughout the years. He glanced around the Pomeroy table and knew this was the life he wanted. Children who felt free to wander the room with adults and climb onto the backs of strangers on their knees making marriage proposals.

The sisters and Lady Pomeroy glowed with happiness—most likely at having another wedding to plan. It appeared women loved that sort of thing. He watched Pomeroy’s eyes light up when the large roast was set on the table. He must ask Phoebe one day about her father’s concern with food.

* * *

Phoebe fingered the lovely pale rose gown she’d selected for her wedding. The ceremony would take place at St. George’s Church at nine o’clock, followed by a wedding breakfast at the Pomeroy townhouse.

Pru knocked lightly and entered the room. “Oh, Phoebe, you look absolutely stunning!”

“Thank you. I must admit to a bit of nerves, though.”

“Nothing to be nervous about. You love him and he loves you. That is all that’s important to start a marriage.”

“Well, a place to rest one’s head at night and food on the table helps also,” Phoebe said with a grin. Then, thinking of having a place to rest her head reminded her that tonight was her wedding night. She and Morgan would share intimacy. Mother had stopped by her room the night before and spoke with her a bit about what to expect.

“My best advice to you, daughter, is to enjoy your husband’s touch.” When she attempted to tell her more, Phoebe held up her hand. “That’s fine, Mother. I’m sure Morgan knows what he’s doing.” The last thing she wanted to hear was anything about Mother and her time in bed with Papa. Some things were better left unknown.

“Time to leave, girls.” Mother entered the room, fumbling with her earbob. “This came lose. Can you fix it, Pru?”

Earring in place, Mother walked up to Phoebe and rested her hands on her shoulders. “You look wonderful. His Grace is a very lucky man.”

They made their way downstairs and out the door to the waiting carriage. Papa stood next to it, looking quite dapper.

Mother and Pru chattered the entire ride to St. George’s Church. Papa reached across the space and took her hand. “Be happy, daughter. You have a good man. He will take proper care of you.” He leaned back and frowned. “Of course, if he does not, send for me.”

Phoebe grinned and turned to look out the window. Papa was so protective of his girls.

They drew up to the church and climbed the steps. Mother took a seat, and Papa walked Phoebe down the aisle with Pru following her as her bridesmaid.

Her first glimpse of Morgan took her breath away. In his formal attire, he was a sight to behold. He turned his handsome face toward her and she grinned. He grinned back. They faced the vicar, and he began to speak.

Later, Phoebe would only remember one part of the ceremony, when Morgan took her hand and slid the gold band on her finger. With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

And she was married.

* * *

Later that night, Phoebe stood in the duchess’s bedchamber with the connecting door to her husband’s room. Morgan told her he would fetch her when she let him know she was ready. She took a deep breath and regarded herself in the mirror once more.

She was indeed ready. The new lady’s maid she’d hired, Weston—as she wanted to be called—had helped her with her bath and dried her hair by the fire, brushing it until it shone, cascading over her shoulders to her mid-back.

The pale blue silk nightgown she wore clung to her on places that emphasized her form. She assumed Morgan would be happy with that fact. Taking a deep breath, she padded across the floor and opened the door. Morgan strode back and forth, the blue-and-green striped banyan whipping around his legs as he turned.

He must have sensed her presence because he turned toward the door, a glowing smile on his face. “You look beautiful.” He walked toward her, possibly seeing some hesitation on her face. He reached out and she took his hand. Warm. Solid. Dependable. Just like the man.

Morgan drew her to him and wrapped her in his arms. “I have waited for this moment for weeks. You have no idea how much I desire you.” He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his head, touching her lips lightly with his. Then, as if a dam had burst, he took complete control of her mouth, stroking, nipping, licking, using his tongue to seek, search, and possess, making sure she knew to whom she belonged. Now and forever.

She slid her palms up his warm, muscular chest and rested her hands on his shoulders. He placed his hands on her bottom and pulled her close to his manhood. “God, I want you.” With those words, he swept her into his arms as if she weighed no more than a bag of feathers and walked to the bed, keeping their lips locked.

The counterpane was chilled under her back, but after he rested partially on top of her and continued his assault on her mouth, she began to grow quite warm. Slowly, he moved his hand up to cup her breast, rubbing his thumb over the nipple, bringing all sorts of strange and wonderful feelings to the area between her legs.

He released the tie from her dressing gown and slid the garment off her shoulders, taking the thin straps of her nightgown with it. He sucked in air between his teeth as her breasts were revealed. “You are stunning, my duchess.”

His head bent, and he took her breast into his mouth, using his warm, moist tongue to toy with her nipple. Her loose nightgown grew tight, restrictive. As if he could read her mind, he whispered in her ear, “Let’s get these clothes off you.”

Within seconds, it seemed, he whipped the nightgown and dressing gown off her and deposited the garments on the floor. His rough hands roamed her body, stopping to stroke, caress, and massage her skin.

Her skin warmed and then heated until she felt as though she were on fire. “I think it’s time to remove your clothes, Your Grace.”

Morgan hopped from the bed and removed his banyan and climbed back toward her. She was mesmerized by his member, long and thick, standing proud from the nest of dark curls. Never one to be shy, she reached out and touched it, bringing a moan from deep within him. She grinned. And he grinned back.

He settled down alongside her, taking her mouth once more in a deep kiss, his hands nestling the part that ached for him against his swollen manhood. If there was air in the room, she had no idea how to access it, since her lungs tightened with his touches as she felt something wonderful starting inside her.

There was nothing in the room except the two of them. The scent of his bath soap, the flickering candlelight, the darkness beyond the light wrapping them in a tight cocoon. All her focus was on where his fingers played with the entrance to her body. She grew slick, aching, craving something more from his fingers. “Please, I feel so strange. I need something.”

He kissed her softly and murmured. “I know, sweetheart. Just relax for a minute.”

“I can’t relax. I’m so close.” She hardly recognized her voice.

“I’ll help you.” He pulled her close and circled his thumb right where she needed it.

“Yes.” The feeling grew stronger as Morgan whispered in her ear of how much he wanted her, how beautiful she was, and other naughty things he would do to her that pushed her over the edge. She let out a low keening sound as wave after wave of pleasure flooded her body and all her senses.

As she came back to herself, he pushed her legs apart and climbed between them. His pupils were darkened, his lips in a slight smile as he took her mouth in a soft kiss, and slowly edged his way into her opening. “Hold on, darling, this will only hurt for a second.”

He shoved forward, and a tiny pinch was soon replaced with another build-up of tension. She wrapped her legs around his waist and tilted so she felt his movements right where she needed it.

Just as he threw his head back and poured himself into her, she was awash with another wave of pleasure.

Morgan stared at her and pushed the damp curls from her forehead. “I love you, my duchess.”

“And I love you.”

One more tender kiss and he rolled off her and they snuggled together. It was truly amazing what a grin on a public street would do.