Free I Married the Duke by Katharine Ashe

I have also already told you. Really, you don’t pay attention to a word I say, do you?” She tucked final strands beneath the linen.
    How much money would he be obliged to part with to convince her to loose all that hair again? Just once. Once so that he could run his fingers through it and feel the surge of pure, uncomplicated lust. He could make her an offer that would render her compensation from Reiner laughable.
    The notion intrigued.
    He would add a bonus if she agreed to wash it.
    “Every word,” he murmured. “As though they were pearls.”
    She cut him an inscrutable glance, then swung her legs over the side of the cot. The hem of her chemise poked out from the blanket, the dullest white linen without ornament. It was an astoundingly prim garment from which a glimpse of her calves and feet emerged. Luc’s mouth went dry.
    “If I allow my ankles to dangle in your sight for a bit,” she said, “will you forget about my hair?”
    “Probably not, despite how comely those ankles are.” Like the rest of her, a wrinkled and rumpled governess and none too clean yet still breathtaking. A beautiful servant on her way to his castle. “How will you travel to Saint-Reveé-des-Beaux, duchess?”
    “I will hire a coach, though I hardly see how that is your concern.”
    Rather, entirely his concern. “If I choose to follow you, will you call the gendarmes down upon me?”
    Her delicate brow dipped, the cornflowers wary once more. “Why would you follow me?”
    “My brother lives nearby.” In the chateau. He could tell her. He should tell her. “It is on my route.”
    “If you remain at a distance, I don’t care if you follow me the length of the continent and back again.”
    “That is a comfort to hear.” He stood and offered his hand.
    Her shoulders stiffened. She climbed off the side of the cot without his assistance and pulled the blanket tight about her again. “I must find Mr. Miles and retrieve my clothes. When will we arrive at Saint-Nazaire?”
    “Tomorrow if the wind holds. And Mr. Miles will bring your clothing when it is dry. Today you must remain here.”
    “In your cabin?” Her cheeks flushed. “Your bed?”
    He allowed himself a slight smile. “Yes, but alas, without me in it. I have work to do elsewhere today.”
    Her quick breath of relief caught him. She had not expected to have a choice in the matter. A servant with her beauty . . .
    He felt like a fool for teasing her. Worse, a scoundrel. He should have known. Other men did not always accept no as an answer.
    Other men had not lived through the hell he had.
    Luc reached for his hat hanging on a peg. “Last night you asked after the character of my men? Why? Has someone bothered you?”
    “No. But there is one young man . . .” She chewed on the inside of her lip, a habit she had to which he was developing something of an addiction.
    “Tell me,” he said. “Now.”
    The cornflowers flashed anew. “You are remarkably autocratic.”
    “It comes with the ship.” He allowed himself a moment’s satisfaction. The duchess was back . “Tell me.”
    “The other day he visited Dr. Stewart’s infirmary and claimed a toothache, but he was lying.”
    “How do you know he lied? Did Dr. Stewart suspect him?”
    “No. But . . . I felt it. Whatever it is that sailor wishes from Dr. Stewart’s medicine chest, I believe he has ill intentions.” She spoke with confidence again, uncowed by his anger and unafraid of his authority. He had never known a woman of such beauty that was both modest and vulnerable, yet assured and resilient. She astounded him. He could not look away from her, but he could not speak.
    “I felt it,” she repeated earnestly.
    “How did you feel it, little duchess?” he said, and lifted a hand to her chin. “As you feel—”
    She jerked away from his fingertips. “Don’t touch me again.”
    Luc stepped back.
    On his eleventh birthday, pointing a pistol with a shaking hand, he had said those words to