Free This Duchess of Mine by Eloisa James Page A

conversation this has been. I would give you the name of my mantua maker, but I never share her address, even with my very closest friends. She’s by far the best in London, and if I pay her three times the price, she plucks gowns literally out of the air. I’ve had a gown made for the following day!”
    Louise managed a good show of indifference. Of course, half of London knew that Jemma frequented the establishment of Madame Montesquieu, on Bond Street.
    â€œI do hope to meet you again soon, Marquise,” Jemma said blithely. “We go to Vauxhall tomorrow night…well, I believe I’ve never seen you there. Do you not care for it?”
    â€œIn fact, I had long planned to pay it a visit,” the marquise said. “Does one not wear a domino there?”
    â€œAlways.”
    â€œThen no one would note my odious clothing,” Louise said with a marked snap. “I look forward to it.”
    Rather than curtsy, Jemma delivered the coup de grâce . She held out her hand to be kissed.
    Of course Louise bent her head over her hand with utmost grace. But her eyes swore revenge. Jemma left smiling.
    She couldn’t control everything. She couldn’t control her husband’s erratic heart. Elijah was important to the government and she was important to no one.
    But she had her own rather particular skills.

Chapter Six
    O n the way back from the marquise’s house, Jemma remembered that she had one problem left to solve in Francesch Vicent’s 100 Chess Problems . She handed her pelisse to Fowle and headed directly for the library and her chessboard.
    â€œYour Grace,” the butler said. “You have callers.”
    But Jemma was already living inside the game. “I can’t talk now, Fowle. I’ll just be in the library for a bit.”
    â€œYour gloves,” the butler said, a wry smile in his eyes.
    â€œOh,” Jemma said, pulling them off.
    â€œThe Duke of Villiers awaits,” Fowle said, to her back.
    She turned about, feeling a pulse of extreme annoyance. “Villiers is here? What on earth is he doing here?”
    â€œThe duke paid you a call,” Fowle said. “Since the drawing room had a number of ladies waiting in it—and they are still there—he requested to be placed in the library. In front of the chess set.”
    â€œAh,” Jemma said, smiling. “I think those callers had better take themselves off, Fowle.” She paused for a moment. “Do they know of Villiers’s visit?”
    â€œI believe not.”
    â€œExcellent!” She turned to the library. “I am suffering from a terrible headache, Fowle. Do give my apologies to all my visitors. And you might bring a light luncheon in an hour or so.”
    As she walked into the room, the Duke of Villiers rose from the chessboard. Villiers was an odd mix of fashionable and its opposite. He disdained the mania for wigs, wearing his hair tied back in a ribbon, unpowdered of course. And yet he dressed as magnificently as she did.
    In some ways, Villiers was the opposite of Elijah. He had none of Elijah’s startling beauty: his face was too rough to be courtly, and his eyes too cold to be alluring. He cared nothing for the world’s opinion, let alone its salvation. He had never taken up his seat in the House of Lords; as far as Jemma knew, his sole passion was the one she shared: chess.
    Jemma actually felt a pulse of envy at the sight of his coat, an emotion rarely inspired by men’s attire.
    â€œYou’ve outdone yourself, Villiers,” she said, by way of greeting. “Cream silk with interlocking chains in cherry embroidery. I’ve never heard of such a coat. No, I’ve never dreamed of such a coat.”
    Villiers fell into a bow as magnificent as his garment. “I dreamed of it, though my tailor complained. It seems he feared I might become besmirched by dirt or spotted by rain.”
    She laughed. “Rain would not dare