Free This Duke is Mine by Eloisa James Page B

spell of a woman again. Nor did he wish to humiliate himself by marrying a second wife who had no respect for her marital vows. He took a deep breath and willed the world to reassemble itself.
    He was the Duke of Sconce. This young lady had been summoned to his house as a prospective duchess, and she was clearly, definitively, ineligible. That was the end of that.
    True, his impulsive kiss suggested to him that he should make a greater effort to find a mistress. It wasn’t like him to accost strange women who appeared on his doorstep, no matter how revealing their attire might be.
    He pulled himself upright. “Miss Lytton, I trust you will forgive me if I leave you for the moment.”
    “Certainly,” she murmured. She was looking at him with a rather amused curiosity.
    He bowed.
    “Your Grace,” she said, still clutching the coat to her neck. It had to be his imagination that there was a faintly mocking tone underlying her salutation.
    He headed out the door without another word.

Seven

    Ineligible! And More So Every Moment

    O livia took a deep breath as the duke disappeared into the corridor. She felt as if her mind was darting in fifteen different directions, all at the same time. Who could have thought that the mere absence of a coat would emphasize a man’s shoulders so much? At first she’d thought the duke’s eyes were black, but then she’d realized they were gray-green, fringed with surprisingly long lashes.
    And he’d kissed her. She actually touched her lips, thinking of it now. Her first kiss. She sat down and Lucy leaped onto her lap. A bundle of wet fur could not make her gown any wetter than it already was, and Rupert’s little dog was shivering terribly, so she bundled her inside the coat and pulled it closed.
    She had imagined that Rupert would kiss her when they consummated their betrothal. While she hadn’t been looking forward to his salutation, her imagination had been proved wrong: he hadn’t made the slightest attempt. Apparently his father had not included kissing in his instructions for marital congress.
    But this duke had kissed her as if it were his right. As if he were her fiancé. And . . . he’d said she was beautiful. Olivia pulled the coat a little tighter and thought about that. She’d been complimented before, of course. She was to be a duchess someday, and on occasion men had flattered her in a halfhearted sort of way.
    Still, the Duke of Sconce had had no idea of her future rank when he’d told her she was beautiful. The thought was like a bright little coal in her heart, a happy spark.
    Her mind skipped to a different subject. She’d never seen hair like his. Black as midnight, except for one white streak in the front, and falling loose around his shoulders. Of course, he’d presumably been called from his bed. Undoubtedly he wore his hair tied back during the day.
    Lucy made a little snorting sound, so Olivia glanced down, only to see a gleam of pink leg showing through her skirts. Perhaps that was why the duke had stared so intently. She couldn’t bear wearing corsets while riding long distances in a carriage—but generally, there was no one to see her but her sister.
    Just as she peeked into the coat to see whether, in fact, her breasts were as visible as her knees, a middle-aged man trotted through the door, pulling his livery over his right shoulder. “What is it?” he panted, seeing her. “Lord, and aren’t you half-drowned, then? Has the bridge to the village gone under water again?”
    “The village?” she echoed.
    The moment he heard her voice, his entire demeanor changed. He straightened, and something indefinable shifted every feature in his face. He transformed from a rather annoyed, sleepy man into the butler of a great house.
    “Please accept my humble apologies,” he said, bowing. “I am Cleese, the butler. On seeing you in my silver room, I assumed . . . has there been some accident?”
    A footman poked his head in at the door, with another at