Read Online The Making of a Duchess by Shana Galen - Free Book Online Page B

one ribbon of hair to fall over her shoulder and caress his desk. He stared at it.
       "We're eccentric." She looked him full in the face, daring him to question her.
       He raised his glass in a mock salute. "That must explain why you're wandering about my home in the middle of the night, creeping into my library. What were you looking for?"
       "Paper and pen," she said rapidly.
       "Why?"
       "I needed to write a letter. Immediately."
       "To whom?"
       "My mother. You know that my father has been so ill…" Her gaze drifted to his desk, and he followed it, hoping no important papers were lying about. He noted the envelope containing the letter about Armand. His hand itched to move it, but that would only draw her attention to it.
       How could he be such a fool as to leave it lying out? Enough toying with her. He would give her the paper and send her back to bed.
       He leaned down, easing open the drawer where he kept the parchment. He reached inside, and something silky brushed over his knuckles. He glanced up to find Mademoiselle Serafina looking over his shoulder to study the contents of the drawer.
       She gave him a sheepish smile.
       "Here." He handed her several sheets of paper, a pen, and a jar of ink. "Anything else?"
       "No."
       He gave his desk chair a pointed look, and she rose, clutching the writing supplies to her chest.
    "I'll just go back to bed now."
       He went to the library door and opened it for her. "Good night."
       But as she walked toward him, it occurred to him that this was probably as good a time as any. After all, they were alone, and he did rather want to get the whole business over with so he could concentrate on plans to travel to France.
       She reached the door, but he shut it again in front of her. She stopped short and gave him a nervous glance. "What are you doing?"
       What was he doing?
       Vengeance. Think about vengeance and duty, he ordered himself.
       "Mademoiselle Serafina, we both know why you're here."
       "We do?" The color drained from her face, and he saw now that she had freckles across her nose and her cheeks. She stared at him and clutched the paper so tightly she wrinkled it. "Who told you?"
       He frowned. "No one told me. I know what's expected of me, and I have no objection."
       Now she frowned, confusion in her eyes. He gritted his teeth. Hell, he hoped she wasn't going to make this more difficult than it had to be.
       "So?" he prodded. "What do you say?"
       She was watching him closely, looking uncertain. "I… have… no objection either." Her words were slow and measured.
       " Très bien. D'accord. My mother will want to start the wedding preparations immediately." He turned away from her, snatched the letter about Armand, and tucked it into his coat pocket.
    "What?"
       He heard her drop the paper and pen and looked back to see her standing stiff and wide-eyed. "What wedding?"
       "Our wedding. You just agreed to be my wife."

Six

    Sarah felt her stomach heave violently, felt the room sway before her, and reached out for something solid. She closed her hand on the first object she touched— the duc's arm. It was warm and solid under her fingers, and when she looked into his eyes, they met hers.
       Heart beating fast, Sarah looked away and released him. Her head was spinning, and her ears were ringing. She could not have heard him correctly.
       The duc had not looked away from her. "Are you feeling unwell?"
       "Yes. No." She could feel her cheeks burning. Say it , you ninny! "Yes. I think there's been a misunderstanding."
       He narrowed his eyes. "I see."
       "When you were ah—" How to say this? How exactly did one turn down a duc's marriage proposal? "When you were proposing, I didn't realize you were proposing."
       He raised a dark brow, annoyance darkening his features. "What did you think I was doing?"
       "I-I…" She pressed her lips