Free The Duchess Diaries: The Bridal Pleasures Series by Jillian Hunter Page A

carriage?
    They were up to something, and Nick sensed an interesting motive behind their mischief. Before he could investigate, the duke’s carriage appeared at the corner and rolled into the gated carriage house.
    Nick crossed the street and slipped through the gate. He opened the carriage door and grabbed the diary before the coachman had come back to lock up for the night.
    Nick could have left it at that.
    Instead, he returned to the garden wall and trained his spyglass on the upper rooms of the duke’s residence. He thought he could make out one of the women flitting behind the curtains.
    Anticipation surged in his blood.
    God love them.
    They must be looking for the diary, too.
    And here it was, resting right up against Nick’s black heart.
    Had he beaten Harriet to the kill? There had to be more to this quarrel between two ladies. He’d be a fool to let the diary out of his tender keeping before he had estimated its worth. To hell with Lady Clipstone; if Harriet wanted it, the diary was invaluable.
    What price could a man put on revenge?

Chapter 9
    T he duke did not need to lure Charlotte to his bed. She would collapse across it if he kept on nuzzling her neck. His sensuality swept away reason and replaced it with irrational desire. For a year she had craved his touch. “Why don’t you tell me the truth?” he whispered, his arm locking around her waist. “I might be able to help you.”
    “Your actions say otherwise.”
    “In truth.” He lifted his head, his hard stare offering her no escape. “You are not here on a treasure hunt, are you?”
    She drew a breath. “No. I’m not. I came here because you have my diary, and I would like it back, please.
Please.
”
    His expression did not soften. She hoped he would understand. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the shambles she’d made of his wardrobe drawers, or that she’d foundwhat she thought were French letters tucked between a pack of playing cards and a pair of dove gray gloves.
    But more than anything she hoped that he had her diary in his possession but hadn’t read it.
    His deep voice caressed her. “Come downstairs to my study, Charlotte. I find it impossible to think clearly with you so close to my bed. And, yes, I have your diary.”
    She was afraid to ask whether he’d read it. She felt giddy with relief that at least it wasn’t lost. He led her to his darkened study. If Harriet had searched the room, she hadn’t left any visible sign of her presence.
    But there also weren’t any signs of Harriet in the house. Where had she gone?
    “Sit down on the sofa, Charlotte,” the duke said. “I assume you don’t mind if I use your first name.” He paused, waiting for her to be seated. “Considering that we appear to know each other so well, it only seems appropriate.”
    “You read my diary…How humiliating!
How could you?
”
    “It wasn’t easy, believe me. It is to your credit, however, that it claimed all my attention.”
    “I don’t think I deserve credit for what I’ve done.”
    “Or written?” He sat beside her.
    She lowered her fan to her lap.
    “Well?” he said, giving her an expectant look.
    Charlotte raised her gaze to his. “Well, what?”
    “I believe that the treasure hunt called for a duke’s kiss.”
    “Oh, that.” She twirled her fan in a bleak wave. “I made it up. I’m not really on a hunt.”
    “I know.” He raised his hand. His fingers glided down her face, warm, knowing, in no hurry. “But I am, and I will claim my kiss.”
    She swallowed a gasp. His other hand curled around her nape. She felt her hair spill loose as he pulled her pins that held its heavy weight in a knot. The words that had come so easily when she wrote of him now abandoned her. Or she abandoned herself.
    She knew only that when he lowered his head and kissed her, her desire for him was no playful dream. It was desperation. It was undeniable need. She closed her eyes, the better to surrender to him. His mouth coaxed a response. Her