Free An Ideal Duchess by Evangeline Holland Page A

remember?”
                  “They’ve merely been improved,” He grinned slightly, tilting his head in amusement.
                  “Speaking of the portraits at Challoner Hall…has your friend had the Autissier miniature appraised? I was speaking with my father about it, and he is willing to put in a good word with Duveen,”
                  “Bim isn’t keen on looting the family heirlooms to repair his roof.”
                  Amanda refrained from flinching at the flinty chill in his voice. She cast a glance at him as she placed a few crustless egg sandwiches on her plate. “Is that what you call it? Looting?”
                  “What else do you call stripping England of its treasures to grace the home of some jumped up industrialist?”
                  “Preserving and sharing heritage, I call it.” She turned to face the duke. “J. P. Morgan regularly donates pieces of his collection to the Met—regular citizens, poor people, would never have the opportunity of seeing a Renoir or a Rubens in person when it’s locked away in some moldering estate.”
                  “Besides,” She continued. “What do you call the presence of the Elgin Marbles in the British Museum? Or the Cleopatra Needle along the Embankment?”
                  The duke’s copper brows lowered. “Touché,”
                  Amanda flushed slightly. “You aren’t going to end the argument so easily, are you?”
                  “I know when we’ve reached an impasse we shall never bridge, so I choose to leave this at a stalemate,”
                  “Or a truce,” She squinted up at him with a tremulous smile.
                  He nodded. “Or a truce.”
                  His mouth curved slightly and his eyes remained fixed on her face. Amanda looked down at her place of food and picked up a sandwich to mask her nervousness over his intense regard, and was grateful when her parents interrupted their tête-a-tête, her mother all aflutter over Bledington and its grounds.
                  “And how long has it been in your family, my dear duke?” Her mother looked bright-eyed and appealing beneath her modish blue hat.
                  “Since Henry the Eighth, Mrs. Vandewater,” The duke replied, glancing behind them to the golden brick edifice of Bledington Park glittering in the sunlight. “Though what you see now has only been in existence since the 1860s, when the seventh Duke of Malvern had the old Cotswold manor pulled down and this Jacobean house erected in its place.”
                  “That must have been deuced expensive, eh?” Her father said, and Amanda groaned inwardly at her father’s gaffe when the duke’s expression stiffened.
                  “There are account books in the steward’s room if you would like to see them…” The duke said with a tense smile.
                  “Tell us more about the house, Your Grace,” Amanda placed a hand on the duke’s arm to bring his attention back to her.
                  And back to her it came, his eyes darkening as they lowered to the hand she placed on his arm and then rose, lingering on her mouth; she wet her lips involuntarily. The muscles in his arm bunched beneath the fabric of his jacket and then relaxed, and she slowly released a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d held. She took another breath to still the fluttering in her stomach and removed her hand, hoping that would further quell her reaction to him.
                  “A-A tour, perhaps,” She said lightly. “Since we haven’t yet seen inside Bledington.”
                  He continued to stare at her, his face so close she could count the freckles scattered across his golden skin. He lifted his shoulders and finally broke eye contact to look