Read Online A Preacher's daughter for the smitten Duke (Regency Romance) (Regency Tales Book 6) by Regina Darcy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Regina Darcy
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seemed to prove her intuition to be accurate.
The Viscount had often told him that his habit of raising a brow in question was often misconstrued as a sign of arrogance. It seemed that in this instance, at least, his friend was correct. He sighed inwardly. He had bungled the opportunity to make a good impression yet again, and was now so self-conscious that he grew silent, in an attempt to preserve what little was left of his dignity, finishing the dance without uttering another word. As soon as the dance was over, she pulled her hand away from his and said,
“You must excuse me, my lord, but I must needs retire. My parents do not like to linger once the dancing is done.”
She hurried away before he could say a word in response, and he watched her disappear from view around a corner. He sighed...once again he had failed to please.
How was he to make sufficient progress to ask the question that would legally betroth her to him, if he couldn’t hold a sensible conversation with Phoebe without boring or offending her? Perhaps it was a good thing that he was returning to London in a few days. Country living grated on him, especially now, when he was feeling so little inclined to appreciate the pleasures of the bucolic life. Maybe when he was back in his own element he would be able to communicate better. He fervently prayed that it would be so.
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BONUS CHAPTER 2:
THE DUKE’S SECRET DESIRE
ONE
The heat in the room was stifling. The windows were closed to prevent the air, and whatever contagions were borne upon it, into the sickroom. But the patient enclosed within the bed sheets seemed entirely unaware of the temperature; he was buried in a mount of blankets and still he shivered.
“Bart!” he called out in a weak voice.
“I’m here, old chap.”
Lord Bartholomew Granger, the Duke of Middleton, Baron Danver’s commanding officer and lifelong friend, came closer to his bed.
“This is on fine pickle you’ve landed yourself in,” he told his friend with a forced smile. “You are not going to let such a small thing as an infection stop you from returning to England are you?”
“We both know, I won’t survive this darn fever,” Jason Danver responded. He started coughing violently. The Duke reached for the cup of water next to the bed and helped his friend take a sip.
“Not if you don’t take better care of yourself.”
“Old chap, I need you to take care of Arya,” Danver said faintly.
“You’re the only one whom I can trust to put her safety first.”
When Middleton said nothing, the Baron repeated his request.
“I will no longer be here to offer her my protection. A protection she sorely needs.” Once again Baron Danver was racked with a persistent cough.
He took a couple of deep breaths and continued his plea, “She’s an innocent in this nest of vipers. Her family . . . they see her as a pawn and they’ve used her as such. Her mother, while she was alive, never had any influence on the decisions that the Maharajah Sangvitani Singh made, and as for that brother of hers, he’s as duplicitous as the devil himself.”
His eyes, feverish but intent locked with Bartholomew’s. He gripped the Duke’s arm and held on firmly as he whispered, “Promise me that you’ll look after Arya when I’m gone. I ask you this on the memory and strength of our friendship.”
The Duke’s heart constricted, his mind still refusing to accept the inevitable. Nevertheless, as his friend continued to stare at him, he finally gave him the answer he was after.
“Yes. Yes, of course I will, but you mustn’t give up.”
“No need to pretend. I’m dying and everyone knows it… Arya knows it too.”
“Where is she?”
“She can’t be allowed in the sickroom. You see . . . ” a frail smile touched the wan lips of the wasting Baron. “We’re . . . she’s going to have our child. It’s very early yet, but nothing must be done to put the unborn baby in harm’s way. He’ll be the
The Viscount had often told him that his habit of raising a brow in question was often misconstrued as a sign of arrogance. It seemed that in this instance, at least, his friend was correct. He sighed inwardly. He had bungled the opportunity to make a good impression yet again, and was now so self-conscious that he grew silent, in an attempt to preserve what little was left of his dignity, finishing the dance without uttering another word. As soon as the dance was over, she pulled her hand away from his and said,
“You must excuse me, my lord, but I must needs retire. My parents do not like to linger once the dancing is done.”
She hurried away before he could say a word in response, and he watched her disappear from view around a corner. He sighed...once again he had failed to please.
How was he to make sufficient progress to ask the question that would legally betroth her to him, if he couldn’t hold a sensible conversation with Phoebe without boring or offending her? Perhaps it was a good thing that he was returning to London in a few days. Country living grated on him, especially now, when he was feeling so little inclined to appreciate the pleasures of the bucolic life. Maybe when he was back in his own element he would be able to communicate better. He fervently prayed that it would be so.
Read More
BONUS CHAPTER 2:
THE DUKE’S SECRET DESIRE
ONE
The heat in the room was stifling. The windows were closed to prevent the air, and whatever contagions were borne upon it, into the sickroom. But the patient enclosed within the bed sheets seemed entirely unaware of the temperature; he was buried in a mount of blankets and still he shivered.
“Bart!” he called out in a weak voice.
“I’m here, old chap.”
Lord Bartholomew Granger, the Duke of Middleton, Baron Danver’s commanding officer and lifelong friend, came closer to his bed.
“This is on fine pickle you’ve landed yourself in,” he told his friend with a forced smile. “You are not going to let such a small thing as an infection stop you from returning to England are you?”
“We both know, I won’t survive this darn fever,” Jason Danver responded. He started coughing violently. The Duke reached for the cup of water next to the bed and helped his friend take a sip.
“Not if you don’t take better care of yourself.”
“Old chap, I need you to take care of Arya,” Danver said faintly.
“You’re the only one whom I can trust to put her safety first.”
When Middleton said nothing, the Baron repeated his request.
“I will no longer be here to offer her my protection. A protection she sorely needs.” Once again Baron Danver was racked with a persistent cough.
He took a couple of deep breaths and continued his plea, “She’s an innocent in this nest of vipers. Her family . . . they see her as a pawn and they’ve used her as such. Her mother, while she was alive, never had any influence on the decisions that the Maharajah Sangvitani Singh made, and as for that brother of hers, he’s as duplicitous as the devil himself.”
His eyes, feverish but intent locked with Bartholomew’s. He gripped the Duke’s arm and held on firmly as he whispered, “Promise me that you’ll look after Arya when I’m gone. I ask you this on the memory and strength of our friendship.”
The Duke’s heart constricted, his mind still refusing to accept the inevitable. Nevertheless, as his friend continued to stare at him, he finally gave him the answer he was after.
“Yes. Yes, of course I will, but you mustn’t give up.”
“No need to pretend. I’m dying and everyone knows it… Arya knows it too.”
“Where is she?”
“She can’t be allowed in the sickroom. You see . . . ” a frail smile touched the wan lips of the wasting Baron. “We’re . . . she’s going to have our child. It’s very early yet, but nothing must be done to put the unborn baby in harm’s way. He’ll be the
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