Read Online The Duke of Olympia Meets His Match by Juliana Gray - Free Book Online Page A

handle.
    â€œNo, thank you,” she snapped.
    The duke’s expression moved from bland watchfulness to reproach. “Mrs. Schuyler! You are very cold. Am I correct in surmising—good Lord, I hardly dare to pronounce a thing so absurd—am I correct in surmising that you suspect
my
involvement in this little affair?”
    Did she? But who else on board could possibly have an interest in her affairs? The necessary skill to unlock her door? On the other hand, now that the red mist had dissolved from her eyes, she couldn’t quite imagine the Duke of Olympia leaving behind such obvious signs of his handiwork as an improperly tucked coverlet, or a trunk left off center.
    â€œI don’t know what to think, sir. It’s such a dreadful thing, to have one’s privacy violated in such a crass and dishonorable manner.”
    â€œI quite agree. I am shocked to the core. I will demand a full investigation and apology from the White Star company—”
    â€œThat’s hardly necessary.”
    â€œYes, it is. In fact, if you’ll excuse me, I shall see to the matter straightaway.” He hesitated and smiled. “With, of course, the utmost discretion and the most exact regard for your privacy and delicacy, Mrs. Schuyler.”
    He was gone so quickly, Penelope felt a vacuum of air in his wake.
    She lost no time, because the stewardesses on board the
Majestic
were wonderfully efficient. As soon as Olympia’s step disappeared down the corridor, she shut the door and turned to the trunk at the bottom of her bed.
    The contents weren’t badly disturbed; at least the intruder had made some effort to disguise his rooting about. Her fingers dug along the side and found the tiny catch at the bottom, to spring open the mechanism.
    The portfolio was still there, thank God. Her shoulders sagged in relief.
    But now Olympia’s suspicions would be awakened. She’d seen it in his gaze, the speculative quiet with which he’d surveyed the room, noting the peculiar details of the intrusion. What a fool she’d been, letting out that silly little cry. A ninny. And now she’d wasted her only natural advantage over the duke.
    And yet.
    When he’d burst into the cabin, shouting her name, crackling with a kind of competent male vitality that promised doom to her enemies: no, she couldn’t deny the little thrill that had shot through her veins at that instant. The pure pleasure of his unexpected entrance. Quashed at once, of course, because she was fifty years old and had no business feeling thrills of any sort, least of all for an oversized English duke of cunning and charm, the chosen matrimonial target of her benefactors . . . and
least
of all for a man who appeared to be her primary opponent in this task with which Madame de Sauveterre had entrusted her.
    She gazed down at the portfolio in her hands. So much fuss for a few pieces of paper, a mass of wood pulp and ink.
    But it was better this way, wasn’t it? Because without the need to protect those few pieces of paper, she might actually find her head turned by the so-mighty Duke of Olympia, owner of beautiful mistresses and prospective husband of American heiresses. She might actually find herself falling under his spell.
    And that would never, ever do.
    ***
    By the time the Duke of Olympia reached the main saloon, the charades were nearly finished and his heart was quite nearly under control.
    What a shock, to find himself still capable of the kind of tawdry green emotion of which he had thought himself cured in youth. What a shock, to find himself galloping down a corridor to render chivalrous duty to a woman in distress. Except that she hadn’t really shown much distress, had she? Mrs. Penelope Schuyler had, in fact, been absolute mistress of the situation.
    Surely it wasn’t possible. Surely the identity of the French agent had not simply fallen into his lap, like a ripe American peach.
    Because, for