Read Online The Duke’s Desire by Margaret Moore - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Moore
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“I’m so delighted you have come at last, Your Grace. I’ve missed you.”
Galen realized he had robbed himself of something rather precious for too long. “No more of this title nonsense. We are friends, Myron, and there is no need to stand on rank. And I hope you do not mind if I avail myself of your hospitality for a long time, to make up for all the years I have missed.”
“Of course, your—Galen. Of course.”
Chapter Five
V erity glanced at the letter in her hand. The small, unassuming white sheet of paper with her address written in a plain and simple hand had come in the day’s post. She surmised it was from an acquaintance of her late husband who had not heard of his death. Sighing, she gently pried up the unstamped sealing wax.
She glanced at the signature—then blindly felt for the chair behind her, sitting heavily.
Dear Madam,
I trust you are well and that your sudden departure from our mutual friend’s was not caused by any serious indisposition. If it was, I sincerely hope you are recovered enough to allow me the pleasure of an interview.
Since we have a common interest, I ammost desirous of meeting with you. I will come after the noon today.
Yours sincerely,
Deighton.
The blood throbbed in her ears as her heart pounded wildly.
He was coming here, to her home. Today. Without asking if it was convenient, or giving her any opportunity to refuse to see him.
A “common interest” could only mean Jocelyn.
She couldn’t risk the Duke of Deighton coming here. What if somebody saw him? What would they think?
She could always tell a portion of the truth, which was that she had met him at Lady Bodenham’s.
That might work with any other nobleman, but not him. Not with his reputation, even after all this time. She was young, she was widowed—people would surely leap to the basest of conclusions.
Then they might look at Jocelyn and guess…
The sound of Jocelyn’s giggles reached her from the kitchen, accompanied by Nancy’s throaty laughter.
Thank heavens Clive and Fanny had gone home.
The duke must be in Jefford if he was coming this very afternoon. He was either staying with Sir Myron, the only person of rank in the county, or at the Jefford Arms.
Even if she did find out where he was, she could hardly send him a note. That would cause as much gossip as anything else could.
Why did Galen Bromney have to come here? What could he want? What was there to discuss? Jocelyn was her responsibility. She wanted nothing from him, not now and not ever.
Indeed, he could be nothing in their child’s life. No one must ever know that Jocelyn was the Duke of Deighton’s daughter. She did not want her child to live with the shame and humiliation of being a bastard.
And if Clive discovered her secret, she was sure he would use that information to try to take away Jocelyn’s inheritance without a moment of remorse, or a single thought for the pain or hardship he would cause.
Glancing at the clock, Verity tried to calm herself. It was nearly one o’clock. Perhaps the duke had reconsidered.
Then her breath caught in her throat as a horse bearing a very familiar rider appeared in the long drive. She would know that posture anywhere: the proud carriage of his head, the straight back, the air of possessive arrogance.
He must not come into the house! Somehow, she must keep him outside, away from Jocelyn and Nancy.
With that her only thought, she quickly and quietly hurried outside. As she waited for him on the single step, she wrapped her arms around herself. Although the day was chilly and damp, that was not the reason she trembled.
The duke pulled his horse to a stop and looked at her.
Despite her need to make him leave, Verity felt the heated flush of shame and—worse!—shameful desire possessing her. How attractive he was, with his well-tailored riding clothes that emphasized his broad shoulders, narrow waist and muscular thighs! How he seemed to embody masculine virility in every aspect of
Galen realized he had robbed himself of something rather precious for too long. “No more of this title nonsense. We are friends, Myron, and there is no need to stand on rank. And I hope you do not mind if I avail myself of your hospitality for a long time, to make up for all the years I have missed.”
“Of course, your—Galen. Of course.”
Chapter Five
V erity glanced at the letter in her hand. The small, unassuming white sheet of paper with her address written in a plain and simple hand had come in the day’s post. She surmised it was from an acquaintance of her late husband who had not heard of his death. Sighing, she gently pried up the unstamped sealing wax.
She glanced at the signature—then blindly felt for the chair behind her, sitting heavily.
Dear Madam,
I trust you are well and that your sudden departure from our mutual friend’s was not caused by any serious indisposition. If it was, I sincerely hope you are recovered enough to allow me the pleasure of an interview.
Since we have a common interest, I ammost desirous of meeting with you. I will come after the noon today.
Yours sincerely,
Deighton.
The blood throbbed in her ears as her heart pounded wildly.
He was coming here, to her home. Today. Without asking if it was convenient, or giving her any opportunity to refuse to see him.
A “common interest” could only mean Jocelyn.
She couldn’t risk the Duke of Deighton coming here. What if somebody saw him? What would they think?
She could always tell a portion of the truth, which was that she had met him at Lady Bodenham’s.
That might work with any other nobleman, but not him. Not with his reputation, even after all this time. She was young, she was widowed—people would surely leap to the basest of conclusions.
Then they might look at Jocelyn and guess…
The sound of Jocelyn’s giggles reached her from the kitchen, accompanied by Nancy’s throaty laughter.
Thank heavens Clive and Fanny had gone home.
The duke must be in Jefford if he was coming this very afternoon. He was either staying with Sir Myron, the only person of rank in the county, or at the Jefford Arms.
Even if she did find out where he was, she could hardly send him a note. That would cause as much gossip as anything else could.
Why did Galen Bromney have to come here? What could he want? What was there to discuss? Jocelyn was her responsibility. She wanted nothing from him, not now and not ever.
Indeed, he could be nothing in their child’s life. No one must ever know that Jocelyn was the Duke of Deighton’s daughter. She did not want her child to live with the shame and humiliation of being a bastard.
And if Clive discovered her secret, she was sure he would use that information to try to take away Jocelyn’s inheritance without a moment of remorse, or a single thought for the pain or hardship he would cause.
Glancing at the clock, Verity tried to calm herself. It was nearly one o’clock. Perhaps the duke had reconsidered.
Then her breath caught in her throat as a horse bearing a very familiar rider appeared in the long drive. She would know that posture anywhere: the proud carriage of his head, the straight back, the air of possessive arrogance.
He must not come into the house! Somehow, she must keep him outside, away from Jocelyn and Nancy.
With that her only thought, she quickly and quietly hurried outside. As she waited for him on the single step, she wrapped her arms around herself. Although the day was chilly and damp, that was not the reason she trembled.
The duke pulled his horse to a stop and looked at her.
Despite her need to make him leave, Verity felt the heated flush of shame and—worse!—shameful desire possessing her. How attractive he was, with his well-tailored riding clothes that emphasized his broad shoulders, narrow waist and muscular thighs! How he seemed to embody masculine virility in every aspect of
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