Read Online More than a Mistress/No Man's Mistress by Mary Balogh - Free Book Online Page A

in entertaining me. I have givenHawkins leave to admit any visitors who may call, within reason, of course. He has express instructions to exclude any milliners’ assistants and their ilk who rap on the door.”
    Jane’s stomach lurched at the very thought of visitors.
    â€œI will excuse myself, your grace,” she said, “whenever someone calls.”
    â€œWill you indeed?” His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
    â€œI assume,” she said, “it will be mostly gentlemen who will call. My presence can only inhibit the conversation.”
    He startled her by grinning at her suddenly, completely transforming himself into a gentleman who looked both mischievous and far younger than usual. And almost handsome.
    â€œMiss Ingleby,” he said, “I do believe you are a prude.”
    â€œYes, your grace,” she admitted. “I am.”
    â€œGo and fetch that cushion from the library,” he instructed her. “And set it under my leg.”
    â€œYou might say please once in a while, you know,” she told him as she turned toward the door.
    â€œI might,” he retorted. “But then again, I might not. I am in the position to give the commands. Why should I pretend that they are merely requests?”
    â€œPerhaps for the sake of your self-respect,” she said, looking back at him. “Perhaps out of deference to the feelings of others. Most people respond more readily to a request than to a command.”
    â€œAnd yet,” he said softly, “it appears that you are in the process of obeying my command, Miss Ingleby.”
    â€œBut with a mutinous heart,” she said, leaving the room before he could have the last word.
    She returned with the cushion a couple of minutes later, crossed the room without a word, and, without looking at him, positioned it carefully beneath his leg. She had noticed in his bedchamber earlier that yesterday’s swelling had gone down. But she had noticed too his habit of rubbing his thigh and baring his teeth occasionally, sure signs that he was in considerable pain. Being a proud man, of course, he could not be expected to admit to feeling any at all.
    â€œApart from the thin line of your lips,” the duke said, “I would not know you were severely out of charity with me, Miss Ingleby. I expected at the very least that you would jerk up my leg and slam it down onto the cushion. I was all ready to deal with such a show of temper. Now you have deprived me of the opportunity to deliver my carefully rehearsed setdown.”
    â€œYou are employing me as a nurse, your grace,” she reminded him. “I am to comfort you, not harm you for my own amusement. Besides, if I feel indignation on any subject, I have the vocabulary with which to express it. I do not need to resort to violence.”
    Which was as massive a lie as any she had ever told, she thought even as the words were issuing from her lips. For a moment she felt cold and nauseated, her stomach muscles clenching in the now-familiar feeling of panic.
    â€œMiss Ingleby,” the Duke of Tresham said meekly, “thank you for fetching the cushion.”
    Well. That silenced her.
    â€œI do believe,” he said, “that almost elicited a smile from you. Do you ever smile?”
    â€œWhen I am amused or happy, your grace,” she told him.
    â€œAnd you have been neither yet in my company,” he said. “I must be losing my touch. I am reputed to be rather superior, you know, in my ability to amuse and delight women.”
    Her awareness of his masculinity had been a largely academic thing until he spoke those words and looked at her with the characteristic narrowing of his dark eyes. But suddenly it was no longer academic. She felt a totally unfamiliar rush of pure physical desire that did alarming things to her breasts and her lower abdomen and inner thighs.
    â€œI do not doubt it,” she said tartly. “But I daresay you have