Free When the Duke Returns by Eloisa James Page A

steps away, the better to regain control of her face.
    â€œI think it’s important in any relationship that there be a clearly designated leader,” he was saying. “And I would rather be the leader in my own marriage.” Then he added: “If you don’t mind, Isidore, I won’t rise this time.”
    Cosway would rather annul the marriage than marry her.
    She waited for that news to sink in, but the only thing she could feel was the beating of her heart, anger and humiliation driving it to a rapid tattoo.
    â€œAs it happens,” she said, schooling her voice to calm indifference with every bit of strength she had, “Jemma gave me the direction of the Duke of Beaumont’s solicitor in the Inns of Court. I shall make inquiries as to how we go about an annulment.”
    There was a flash of something in his eyes. What? Regret? Surely not. He sat there, looking calm and relaxed, like a king on his throne. He was throwing her away because she wasn’t a docile little seamstress, because she would make him angry.
    Angry—and lustful. That was something to think about. She could unclothe herself right here, in the drawing room, and then he would have to marry her, but that would be cutting off her nose to spite her face. Why would she bind herself in marriage to a man like this? With these foolish ideas learned in the desert?
    â€œWhy don’t we make a trip there tomorrow afternoon?” he was asking now.
    Isidore refused to allow his eagerness to visit the solicitor to throw her further into humiliation. He was a fool, and she’d known that since the moment she met him.
    It would be better to annul the marriage.
    She sat down opposite him, reasonably certain that her face showed nothing more than faint irritation. “I have an appointment at eleven tomorrow morning with a mantua-maker to discuss intimate attire.”
    â€œIntimate what?”
    â€œA nightdress for my wedding night,” she said crushingly.
    â€œIf we visit the solicitor first, I would be happy to accompany you to your appointment .”
    Isidore narrowed her eyes, wondering about the look on her husband’s face. She was no expert, but it didn’t look like a man who was in control of his lust.
    There were three things that no man was supposed to act on, weren’t there? Anger, lust…and an idea of marriage that included what?
    Oh yes.
    An intelligent woman within a ten-foot radius.
    That must be where fear came in.

Chapter Eight
    Gore House, Kensington
London Seat of the Duke of Beaumont
February 26, 1784
    â€œY our Grace.”
    Jemma, Duchess of Beaumont, looked up from her chess board. She had it set out in the library, in the hopes that her husband would come home from the House of Lords earlier than expected. “Yes, Fowle?”
    â€œThe Duke of Villiers has sent in his card.”
    â€œIs he in his carriage?”
    Fowle inclined his head.
    â€œDo request his presence, if he can spare the time.”
    Fowle paced from the library as majestically as he had entered. It was a sad fact, Jemma thought, that her butler resembled nothing so much as a plump villagepriest, and yet he clearly envisioned himself as a duke. Or perhaps even a king. There was a touch of noblesse oblige in the way he tolerated Jemma’s obsession with chess, for example.
    Naturally, the Duke of Villiers made a grand entrance. He paused for a moment in the doorway, a vision in pale rose, with black-edged lace falling around his wrists and at his neck. Then he swept into a ducal bow such as Fowle could only dream of.
    Jemma came to her feet feeling slightly amused and thoroughly delighted to see Villiers. She used to think that he had the coldest eyes of any man in the ton . And yet as she rose from a deep curtsy and took his hands, she revised her opinion. His eyes were black as the devil’s nightshirt, to quote her old nanny. And yet—
    â€œI have missed you during my sojourn at