Free The Art of Duke Hunting by Sophia Nash Page B

and enjoyed the effort. There was none of the jaded elegance of the amusements in town. There was only much laughter and boisterousness. And these simple folk sweated and didn’t try to hide their enthusiasm.
    Roman kept an eye on March. She was enjoying the dance too. There was a sparkle in her gray eyes and a lightness to her step. The way she held her head and the arch of her back was lithe and graceful. She might not be a ravishing beauty but there was something about her that intrigued him. If she were not a gently bred lady he would have enjoyed taking her to his bed again and making love to her. And he would kill to see and touch and stroke those legs of hers again.
    But there was something else about her that stopped him. She had this untouchable air to her. She had dignity and he couldn’t bring himself to suggest a liaison. It was ridiculous, really. Widows were his prime favorites in town. But he worried her heart might become engaged, and he would not hurt her after all she had done for him.
    The only question was why had this intelligent lady loved her husband. And while she had loved him, it had been obvious he had loved spirits more than he had loved anything else.
    Yes, Lord and Lady Derby were just one more example of what was wrong with marriage. And there was a lot that was wrong with marriage. His parents’ cold, dutiful, typical ton union was a prime example.
    And he was the result.

Chapter 5
    W hat was that confounded sound? Roman opened one eye to find that his chamber at the small inn was still dark.
    Birds. It was birds chirping. Oh, for God sakes. This was the reason he preferred Town. No bloody birds to wake one up. The clattering of hooves on cobblestones, yes. Birds, no.
    He tried to settle back into the cocoon of the bed and could not. He finally groaned and got out of the great yawn of a mattress which took up more than three quarters of the quaint room not fit for a duke.
    And he was exhausted. Country hours were for the birds. Quite literally. He grimaced.
    The scent of oil was about; he sniffed to be certain. She was at it again in the room adjacent to his.
    Painting. Forever painting. He crossed to the window and opened the sash for fresh air.
    Her industriousness was astounding. Since he loved his own work, he understood her devotion, but it was unusual for a female. As he watched a maid pumping water from the well on the green, his fingers itched to find paper and a ruler to further his designs.
    He was torn about his immediate concerns. On the one hand he needed to be in Town; on the other, his mind froze at the thought of stepping onto a gangplank again. But his ideas were in delicate balance right now. He had to go back. His desire to find a permanent solution to supply all of London with clean water had flaws.
    It was beyond ridiculous that the center of Christendom had seven private companies who refused to provide water more than two hours each day. He would find a solution or die trying.
    Indeed, before that fateful night with Candover, Kress, and the others in the entourage, he had been certain he was on the verge of solving the pump problem plaguing the huge design.
    His evenings were spent thusly—lost at his drafting table, except when forced to play the part of draconian brother while his beautiful sister Lily selected a husband. This at least served to occupy his mother so she wouldn’t harass him to find a bride to continue the bloody, cursed Norwich line. One would think his mother would know better than to urge further creation of Norwich dukes. Why, he found it bordering on premeditated murder during his more lighthearted moments.
    Well. He was just going to have to screw up his courage and take the next ship back.
    He would just have to drink until he fell into a stupor and then have someone carry him onto the ship. After, he would never set foot on anything that floated again. He would remain forever in the lovely peace of England, where—
    A sound snagged his