Free To Marry The Duke by Julianne MacLean Page B

she had been the other evening.
    “When we spoke the other night at the assembly,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that their chaperones were enough of a distance behind them to be out of hearing range, “I may have been too forward in my invitation to go walking today.”
    They strolled into the cool shade of towering oaks. The leafy branches stretched over the path like a canopy. James breathed in the fresh scent of damp earth and grass, and Miss Wilson lowered her parasol.
    “Not at all, Your Grace. I hope I didn’t give the impression that I did not wish you to ask.”
    “Of course not, but I must admit to being surprised to hear that you were out walking with Lord Whitby yesterday. And that Lord Manderlin paid you an important call this morning.”
    She gazed up at him with shock and horror.
    “The English grapevine,” he explained. “It’s very active.”
    For a moment, she walked without saying anything, so he was forced to prod. He wanted to know why she was so quiet. “I heard that Lord Manderlin proposed. May I ask, what was your reply?”
    She smiled up at him and at last gave a little laugh. “What do you think it was?”
    He breathed a sigh of relief at the alleviating tension. “I would guess you refused, but very gently.”
    “I tried to be gentle, but I don’t think it even mattered to him. I wouldn’t talk about it if I felt there were any hurt feelings involved, but heavens, I think he thought I was a piece of commercial stock to be purchased.”
    James laughed, and was glad to fall into a more relaxed conversation. “He’s not such a bad fellow. He just lacks social finesse.”
    “A lack of finesse I could live with. But not a lack of romance. I believe a man and a woman ought to marry for love. I’m afraid I cannot be moved on that point, even though my darling mother does her best to try.”
    Marry for love? A title-seeking heiress?
    “But how do you define love, Miss Wilson? Is it passion you are looking for? Or simply sensible companionship?”
    She thought about it. “Both. I want both.”
    “You are ambitious.”
    “I always thought it was my mother who was the ambitious one.”
    “Ah, but you are reaching for something much more difficult to attain than social position. I believe you are the most ambitious woman I have ever met.”
    She raised a delicate, arched brow. “You think love is difficult to attain, Your Grace?”
    James stopped again on the promenade, stalling while he searched his mind for an answer. “What I mean to say is that true love is rare, and cannot be forced. ‘Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.’ And please, call me James.”
    “Shakespeare. That’s very romantic, James.” She put emphasis on his name. “Do you read much of Shakespeare’s work?”
    Thank the Lord she was changing the subject. “I read everything.”
    He recalled something else he had read by Plato— that love was a grave mental disease. Naturally, James refrained from quoting that one.
    “So you’ve refused Lord Manderlin. But what about Whitby? He hasn’t paid you any calls like that, has he? I try to keep abreast of these things, but—”
    “I assure you, James, Whitby and I are acquaintances only.”
    “I see.”
    “He did send me flowers, though,” she added, gazing mischievously up at the oak branches above them.
    She was taunting him! He couldn’t help but play along.
    “What kind of flowers? And how many? I must know.”
    Miss Wilson laughed, albeit somewhat stiffly. “Red roses, and I would guess there were about three dozen of them.”
    James drew his hand to his chest and staggered sideways. “Oh, I’ve been bested already. Three dozen, and red, you say? How will I ever match that?”
    She laughed again, a little more easily this time, and grabbed hold of his arm to pull him back onto the promenade. “You charm me, James, when you’re not… puzzling me.”
    “Puzzling you?”
    She glanced uneasily over her shoulder at