Read Online Deceiving The Duke (Scandals and Spies Book 2) by Leighann Dobbs, Harmony Williams - Free Book Online

fierce hug. “I didn’t know I was. We only met yesterday.”
    Lucy, seeming not to mind the half-hearted conversation going on behind her back, released Phil and stepped back. Phil gulped for air, only to have it flee her lungs in a rush when Lucy latched onto her hand and yanked her into the drawing room. She stumbled, but managed to keep her feet.
    “I’m so happy you decided to call. I have so many questions to ask you.” With brisk little pushes, Lucy herded Phil onto the settee. “Stay right there. I jotted my questions down in my notebook, which is in my reticule in my room. I’ll ring for tea. Stay there.”
    Phil’s ears rang with the velocity and pitch of her words. Before now, she wouldn’t have thought Lucy’s behavior last night to be restrained. It was charming, if overwhelming. Before she knew it, she found herself alone in a parlor blanketed in blissful silence.
    A serene gait broke the silence with a steady click, click, click. As Phil raised her gaze, still lost for words, the dowager duchess appeared in the doorway. In the daylight streaming in from the broad window looking out onto the street, the resemblance between her and Lucy was plain. Both had dark hair—Lucy’s a touch darker—and a similarly shaped face. The dowager even resembled her sons, in the shape of her eyes and the proud way she held herself. Her eyes narrowed as she swept her gaze over Phil’s attire.
    Phil hadn’t dressed with a mind toward impressing one of the oldest and most powerful families in Britain. She wore an amber riding dress decorated with the barest hint of lace across the dip of the neckline, covered by her modest beige spencer. She wore no jewels and her hair was simply dressed, braided and then pinned to the back of her head. Unruly strands already fought their way free. She hadn’t worn a bonnet, and her gloves were kid leather, made for riding, which she’d done rather than drive. A single horse caused less comment than a carriage.
    In short, she didn’t compare to the splendor of a duchess. Although Lucy’s mother wore a simple, dove-gray frock, she had a poise and presence that Phil couldn’t hope to match. Most days, she didn’t even aspire to. She liked who she was, and didn’t care a whit for the fashion standards of the ton .
    Today, however, a small part of her whispered that with a fraction of the dowager’s grace, Phil could draw any man’s eye. And whose eye do you hope to draw? She refused to think of the man currently in possession of her prism.
    The woman smiled, and it occurred to Phil that she didn’t even look that old. In her early fifties, at best.
    “I hope you won’t take Lucy’s lack of manners to heart. She is unusually rambunctious this morning.”
    For some reason, Phil felt disappointed at that statement. Too many of the ton spent their lives restraining their true personality and zest for life. The fact that Lucy did not, despite being raised as the sole daughter of one of the most powerful British families, gave Phil a sense of satisfaction. We don’t all have to be that way.
    “Would you care for some tea?”
    Faced with an odd urge to defend Lucy, Phil answered, “Thank you, but Lucy has already offered.”
    One corner of the dowager’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “I should hope so. What she neglected to do was order the tea before she stampeded up the stairs.” With the raise of her hand, the woman summoned a young maid, no more than sixteen years old.
    The girl curtsied. “Right away, ma’am. Shall I bring a few slices of seed cake as well?”
    “Please do.” Without a farewell glance, the dowager glided into the room and claimed a chair across from Phil.
    Neat trick. Phil bit the inside of her mouth to keep from spewing the words aloud. If she raised her hand in her own house, would her servants read her mind? More likely Pickle would land on her arm and insult her.
    The patter of footsteps hailed Lucy’s return. She burst into the sitting room with