Free How to Deceive a Duke by Lecia Cornwall Page A

through. It was wrong to deceive him, even for so good a reason. Surely Temberlay would eat her alive when he discovered he’d been tricked into marrying the plain Lynton sister, cheated out of the beauty he expected. She felt pity for him, and a pang of guilt. The poor man expected a swan, and he was getting the ugly duckling, the daughter Lord Wycliffe himself had said no one would ever want.
    And when her deception was discovered, the duchess would no doubt be pleased to assist her grandson in making a meal of her. They’d add a fork and knife to the coat of arms to warn away future generations of foolish virgins.
    The door opened and two rows of footmen marched out, wearing impeccable livery, and stood between the coach and front door. Nicholas climbed out of the vehicle in a lithe movement. To her dismay he walked straight up the steps without offering his hand, or even bothering to glance back at her.
    Her pity faded and guilt turned to acid. She felt herself flush under the curious eyes of the servants. She stared at Temberlay’s broad back, and waited for someone to point and laugh and send the coach away with her still inside it.
    Instead, a gloved hand appeared and she took it and climbed out. The decision had been made, the vows spoken. There was no turning back. She must begin as she meant to go on.
    She pasted on a gracious smile and nodded at each footman as if she belonged here. For better or worse, she was from this moment on the Duchess of Temberlay.

Chapter 11
    T emberlay went through the front door without pausing, and Meg followed him into a magnificent entry hall that seemed to be carved from one enormous block of marble. The ceiling soared three stories above the floor. A grand staircase soared heavenward. She gaped like a tourist.
    Temberlay’s hat sat on a mahogany table, and she could hear the click of his boot heels echoing from one of the myriad corridors that led off the entry. The front door closed behind her and the footmen melted into the walls. As the sound of footsteps faded entirely, she clutched the bouquet to her chest, unsure of what to do.
    “Good afternoon, Your Grace. I’m Gardiner, the butler.” She hadn’t heard him approach, and she wondered for a moment if he’d appeared straight out of the marble. “Welcome to Hartley Place. If you will come this way?” He indicated one of the corridors with a gloved hand.
    Unlike his master, the man didn’t make a sound as he moved over the marble floor. He opened a pair of doors that led to a salon.
    Temberlay was lounging in a chair, his booted feet propped on a delicate tea table, a tumbler of golden liquid in his hand. He tossed it back quickly and held out the empty glass to Gardiner, who silently refilled it.
    Her husband didn’t invite her to sit, so she did so on her own, choosing a settee as far from him as possible.
    “May I offer you some tea, Your Grace?” Gardiner asked, and she looked at Temberlay.
    He tilted his head mockingly. “Gardiner means you, Duchess. Do you want tea? I never touch it myself.”
    She wished the floor would open and swallow her. She managed to smile at the patient butler. “Thank you. Tea would be most welcome.”
    He bowed and glided out, closing the doors behind him. Alone in Temberlay’s disturbing presence, Meg listened to the tick of the clock. It was barely noon. She had been married less than an hour.
    “Isn’t it hot under that veil?” he asked, and she jumped. It was indeed, and she couldn’t hide her face forever. She set her bouquet aside and raised the lace, folding it back from her forehead with nervous fingers. He regarded her with lazy interest, offering no hint of either approval or disappointment. She held his gaze boldly, though she could feel her skin growing hot. She looked away first and studied a landscape above the mantel as if it were the most fascinating painting on earth.
    N o, he hadn’t been mistaken at the church. She was beautiful. The realization that