Free Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1) by Sara Ramsey Page B

passed through the first drawing room without anyone stopping to greet her.
    The second drawing room was no better. The only people she recognized were the Duke of Thorington’s siblings. She steeled herself to join them, hoping Lady Serena and Lady Portia, at least, would be friendly. They hadn’t seemed friendly earlier, but anyone was better than Lucretia.
    But before she reached them, a different party intercepted her.
    “Miss Briarley,” the first man exclaimed. He grabbed her by both arms and kissed first one cheek, then the other. “I had begun to fear for your health.”
    His greeting shocked her, but she reminded herself that this wasn’t Baltimore and she didn’t really know what to expect. So she smiled rather than pushing him away. “No need to fear for my health. I’ve a strong constitution.”
    “You very nearly missed the start of the party. I thought I’d given you enough time to reach us, but travel can be so unpredictable.”
    She didn’t have any idea who the rest of the party were — another man, who had rolled his eyes as the first man had kissed her, and two beautiful brunettes in exquisite evening dresses. But Callie guessed who the man who’d greeted her must be. “Are you the Duke of Rothwell?”
    He bowed. “At your service, cousin.”
    Another duke. Maidenstone Abbey was positively rotten with them. He seemed friendly enough, despite his overly proprietary treatment of her cheeks. He was taller than her, but not so tall as to be domineering. An uncharitable person might have said that his hair was red, but in the soft light of an English summer evening the auburn strands were charming rather than unfashionable.
    After a pause, she curtsied for him. It was brief, but it was more than she’d done for Thorington. The Duke of Rothwell was family, after all, in a tenuous sort of way — he was her grandmother’s brother’s grandson, which made them second cousins. And she didn’t have a dark urge to do him violence like she did with Thorington.
    “You aren’t much for ceremony, are you?” he asked.
    “I only find it appealing when it’s deserved, your grace,” she said.
    Everyone in his party laughed. To her ears, they sounded charmed rather than judgmental. She unbent another fraction of an inch.
    “Spoken like a true daughter of the republic,” the duke responded. “I can’t abide ceremony myself. You must call me Ferguson if you don’t wish to use my title.”
    She must have looked startled — such intimacy was usually reserved for only the closest friends. The woman next to him laughed. “Don’t let yourself be shocked by him, Miss Briarley. He asks everyone to call him Ferguson.”
    The other man in their party sighed. “You can be shocked, Miss Briarley. I am shocked every day when I remember I am related to him — it must be worse for you, knowing you share bloodlines.”
    Ferguson didn’t look offended in the slightest. “I forgot myself. Miss Briarley, allow me to present to you my wife, Madeleine.” He gestured to the woman who had just spoken, smiling as though he couldn’t help but do so when he said her name. “Her cousin is, unfortunately, Lord Salford, but I accept him as the cross I must bear. And he has somehow claimed the lovely Lady Salford as his new wife.”
    Madeleine, the Duchess of Rothwell, gave Callie a warm smile as she embraced her — again more affectionately than Callie expected, but genuine enough that Callie slowly began to relax. “I look forward to knowing you better, Miss Briarley. If you Americans can give us advice on how to overthrow our ducal masters, I would appreciate it.”
    There was a vaguely French lilt to her voice, but it was her warmth that made her irresistible. Ferguson pulled her close to him. “Careful, Mad,” he warned her, with fake severity. “I think you like being a duchess too much to advocate treason against me.”
    “Madeleine should have considered treason before she agreed to marry you,” Lord