Free My American Duchess by Eloisa James Page A

relationship as brother and sister, just as they ought.

Chapter Five
    7 Cavendish Square, London
    Residence of the Duke of Trent
    T rent walked up the stairs to his bedchamber in the hours just before dawn, weary to his bones. He’d stayed out half the night the better to avoid his brother, which was a damned foolish reason.
    Over the years, he’d grown used to the peculiarities of being a twin. He and Cedric were as dissimilar as two people could be—and yet they often hit milestones at very nearly the same moment. They’d taken their first steps together; spoken their first words to each other; lost their virginity on the same day, albeit in different counties.
    But nothing like this had ever happened before.
    It had to be some odd alignment of the planets. Or perhaps it was because the Allardyce brothers were particularly suited to American women. Aye, that was likely the answer.
    He merely had to find another American, one who hadn’t already accepted a ring from Cedric.
    If only a man could go to a horse fair and pick out a wife. Then it occurred to Trent’s exhausted brain that, in fact, Almack’s was the human equivalent of that horse fair. Unfortunately, he detested the bloody place.
    He entered his bedchamber and came to a halt. Cedric was lying in wait for him. Literally.
    His brother was asleep in an armchair next to the fireplace, a boozy mess. His mouth hung open and he was listing to the side like a fir tree heavy with snow. His cravat was crumpled and his yellow curls were closer to a tangle than an elegant tumble.
    “Cedric,” Trent said wearily. “Wake up.”
    He dropped his coat on a chair and wrenched off his neck cloth. In telling contrast to his twin’s fawn pantaloons and rose-colored coat, his coat was black, his pantaloons plain, and his boots hadn’t a single tassel.
    He had to repeat himself a few times, and had stripped to the waist and was washing at the basin before his brother finally stirred.
    “Oh, for God’s sake,” Cedric drawled behind his back, “don’t tell me you’re still washing behind your ears every night, like a good little boy.”
    Trent straightened and turned as he toweled off his shoulders. “What are you doing in my chamber?”
    “It pains me to say it, but you are verging on burly,” Cedric said, his eyes resting on Trent’s chest with distaste. “You would present a far more fashionable silhouette if you took a carriage around London like every other peer. Clearly, you are exerting yourself too much.”
    Cedric affected a shudder that set Trent’s teeth on edge. His brother had never been like this when they were boys. These days it was as if he concocted new mannerisms every day just to irritate.
    “I have no interest in debating the merits of a slender physique,” he replied, “especially after spending the entire bloody afternoon listening to arguments about the failure of the Peace of Amiens, followed by that charming incident at the ball. What the hell was that about? You had to steal Mother’s ring behind my back?”
    “A nobleman ought to at least make an effort,” Cedric said, entirely ignoring his question. “You represent the family, Duke —though God knows, you don’t bother to play the part, or even look it.”
    Trent always used to be Jack to his twin, if to no one else—until their father died. Since he’d inherited the title, Cedric had addressed him only as Duke, the term uttered with obvious distaste.
    Cedric scowled when he didn’t respond. “Forget the diamond. I had to catch you before you left for Wales. Lady Portmeadow has sent you no fewer than five missives regarding the East End Charity Hospital, and you haven’t paid her the courtesy of a response.”
    “What does she want?” Trent bent over to pull off a boot. The letters must be in the stack that his secretary deemed personal—which he never bothered to open. Years ago, he and his twin had neatly divided the responsibilities of an English lord, and Cedric had