Read Online The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) by Meara Platt - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Meara Platt
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proud of the way she’d handled Lady Withnall. He wouldn’t say any of it, for it wasn’t true.
She had behaved like an idiot. She had a welt on her chin from Ivy’s teething. Her hair was about to tumble about her shoulders once again. And she’d suffered a sneezing fit after accidentally biting down on those sardines, her reaction chasing host, hostess, and guests from Daisy’s parlor. Had she not been so distracted, she would have seen what she was about to put into her mouth and never taken a bite out of it.
Only Ian remained beside her now, no doubt out of a misguided sense of duty. “How’s your breathing? Feeling any better?”
“Much better.” She wanted him to take her into his arms and protect her from her own idiocy.
She was such a coward!
She let out a light, laughing groan. “I will admit, I’ve had better moments.”
“You’ll do better next time. In truth, you scared the hell out of me. What happened? You were in serious distress.”
She sighed. “I panicked. But you were quite heroic in coming to my rescue.”
His haunted gaze bore into her, no sign of teasing humor, as though he’d seriously risk his life to save her if it ever came to that.
Oh, crumpets again! “Lady Withnall scares me. I was so afraid I’d let slip what happened last November, I accidentally bit down on the sardines. I can’t abide them and they don’t like me either. I acted purely out of fear. Unbridled terror, if you must know the truth.”
“If it’s any consolation, I was quaking in my boots, too.” He grinned and dabbed at her chin with his handkerchief again. Then he took her hand and held it in his warm grasp. “There, all better. Well, almost.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by almost ?”
He tweaked her nose. “Your hair’s a little out of place. A lot, actually.”
“Oh, not again!” Her hands shot to her hair. Most of the pins she’d stuck back in place after Ivy had pulled them out were now dangling amid her curls again.
Ian stopped her as she tried to put them back in place. “Let me,” he said in a husky rumble that stole her breath away. The pulse at the base of her throat began to pound as he leaned in close. Oh, he smelled so good, the scent of sandalwood so pure and fresh against his skin.
She smelled of sardines, spittle, and drool.
“You smell of peaches and heaven,” he said with a soft chuckle, easily reading her thoughts. She’d have to work on masking her expressions better. Men liked mysterious women, right? In any event, she couldn’t let Ian know just how much she liked him.
Her heart began to flutter as he took out all her pins and slowly ran his hands through her unbound hair. Oh, that feels sinfully good. But she couldn’t let him know that either.
“Your hair’s soft as silk. Seems a shame to put it back up.”
She was a grown woman. She couldn’t go about with her hair wild and unbound, though she often did so when at Coniston. There was something about the pure country air and unspoiled lakes and hillsides that freed one from society’s restrictive conventions. “Help me pin the last of it up, you wretch. You promised you would.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Why am I a wretch? I thought I was behaving myself.” He turned her slightly away. “Here, tilt your head a little. That’s it.” He tucked the last of her pins firmly in her hair. “You’re all put together again. Back to your prim and proper self.”
He spoke as though there was something wrong with the notion. “It’s the only way I know how to be.” However, she wasn’t really offended or even angry with Ian. He’d been wonderful to her throughout the tea. She grinned. “Except when I’m maniacally deranged, as I was in front of Lady Withnall.”
He cast her another surprisingly tender smile. “No, you’re perfect. You’re Dillie Farthingale, often sensible, sometimes scared. Always enchanting. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”
She hated when he was
She had behaved like an idiot. She had a welt on her chin from Ivy’s teething. Her hair was about to tumble about her shoulders once again. And she’d suffered a sneezing fit after accidentally biting down on those sardines, her reaction chasing host, hostess, and guests from Daisy’s parlor. Had she not been so distracted, she would have seen what she was about to put into her mouth and never taken a bite out of it.
Only Ian remained beside her now, no doubt out of a misguided sense of duty. “How’s your breathing? Feeling any better?”
“Much better.” She wanted him to take her into his arms and protect her from her own idiocy.
She was such a coward!
She let out a light, laughing groan. “I will admit, I’ve had better moments.”
“You’ll do better next time. In truth, you scared the hell out of me. What happened? You were in serious distress.”
She sighed. “I panicked. But you were quite heroic in coming to my rescue.”
His haunted gaze bore into her, no sign of teasing humor, as though he’d seriously risk his life to save her if it ever came to that.
Oh, crumpets again! “Lady Withnall scares me. I was so afraid I’d let slip what happened last November, I accidentally bit down on the sardines. I can’t abide them and they don’t like me either. I acted purely out of fear. Unbridled terror, if you must know the truth.”
“If it’s any consolation, I was quaking in my boots, too.” He grinned and dabbed at her chin with his handkerchief again. Then he took her hand and held it in his warm grasp. “There, all better. Well, almost.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by almost ?”
He tweaked her nose. “Your hair’s a little out of place. A lot, actually.”
“Oh, not again!” Her hands shot to her hair. Most of the pins she’d stuck back in place after Ivy had pulled them out were now dangling amid her curls again.
Ian stopped her as she tried to put them back in place. “Let me,” he said in a husky rumble that stole her breath away. The pulse at the base of her throat began to pound as he leaned in close. Oh, he smelled so good, the scent of sandalwood so pure and fresh against his skin.
She smelled of sardines, spittle, and drool.
“You smell of peaches and heaven,” he said with a soft chuckle, easily reading her thoughts. She’d have to work on masking her expressions better. Men liked mysterious women, right? In any event, she couldn’t let Ian know just how much she liked him.
Her heart began to flutter as he took out all her pins and slowly ran his hands through her unbound hair. Oh, that feels sinfully good. But she couldn’t let him know that either.
“Your hair’s soft as silk. Seems a shame to put it back up.”
She was a grown woman. She couldn’t go about with her hair wild and unbound, though she often did so when at Coniston. There was something about the pure country air and unspoiled lakes and hillsides that freed one from society’s restrictive conventions. “Help me pin the last of it up, you wretch. You promised you would.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Why am I a wretch? I thought I was behaving myself.” He turned her slightly away. “Here, tilt your head a little. That’s it.” He tucked the last of her pins firmly in her hair. “You’re all put together again. Back to your prim and proper self.”
He spoke as though there was something wrong with the notion. “It’s the only way I know how to be.” However, she wasn’t really offended or even angry with Ian. He’d been wonderful to her throughout the tea. She grinned. “Except when I’m maniacally deranged, as I was in front of Lady Withnall.”
He cast her another surprisingly tender smile. “No, you’re perfect. You’re Dillie Farthingale, often sensible, sometimes scared. Always enchanting. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”
She hated when he was
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