Read Online The Third Duke's the Charm by Emma Wildes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emma Wildes
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me dabbling in botany.”
“But it isn’t something women
do
.”
“Some women don’t do it. That’s different. What would be better, if she liked fashionable gowns instead?”
“It is obvious she doesn’t.” Catherine lifted one brow in a sardonic arch. “And you aren’t interested in women like her. Or at least your cock isn’t. Tell me, how are you going to fuck your little bluestocking bride? Will you discuss the spring crops beforehand?”
He experienced a flicker of irritation over the crudity, but then again, Catherine enjoyed shocking people and she was notoriously spoiled. Their brief affair had been a mistake and he’d ended it once he realized that the idea of one day being a duchess had prompted the invitation into her bed. They had stayed friends to a certain extent, and he always wondered if she hadn’t quite given up hope that he might change his mind and be coaxed into proposing one day.
Not a chance in hell. He’d found her amusing for her unabashed shallowness and ambition, not to mention her blatant sexuality, but he had no doubt that she made a much better mistress than she ever would a wife. “Maybe,” he said softly, “you just never got to know more of me than my cock, but that doesn’t surprise either of us, does it?”
It was clear she wasn’t sure whether or not to be insulted, but in the end, she chose to just laugh. “And a glorious cock it is, darling.”
“The compliment humbles me.”
“Pfft. As if you are ever humble. Why is it I had the impression your brother was going to marry the Lacrosse girl?”
First she was a
creature
and then a
girl
. Considering Vivian was neither, he was hard-pressed to not say something scathing in return, but then again, Catherine had never been all that versed in subtlety in the first place, so it might just confuse her and prolong the visit. “Why exactly are you here?”
“Darling . . . people are talking.”
That translated to her rising at what she considered to be an obscene hour and coming to see him in person to gather information so she could talk more than everyone else. “They always are.”
“About you? Not usually. But then again, you keep your private affairs . . . well, private. Even when we were involved, you insisted we be discreet.”
Lucien leaned back in his chair. “I tried, anyway. If I recall all the rumors, you didn’t cooperate like a lady should, my dear Cat. Who is the one who has no sense of propriety?”
She waved a careless hand, her voluptuous body languid in the chair. “I’ve never cared about that.”
It was true. She was the daughter of a merchant banker who owned about half of London, and the widow of an elderly viscount she had shamelessly married for his social position.
“Some of us do care,” he informed her, thinking of his father’s disapproval of Charles’s sometimes dissolute lifestyle. In truth, his brother was probably not as promiscuous as all the gossip suggested, he just didn’t worry about discretion. Lucien, on the other hand, had learned at a very young age that his position made him vulnerable to scandal, and he had no interest in having half of England discussing his personal life.
Case in point: his affair with Catherine. He unfortunately understood the parameters of her good behavior thanks to previous experience. First and foremost she took care of herself and it was clear she was pouting over his engagement. “I think that since I am engaged, you should no doubt limit your visits to afternoon tea, should there ever be any offered here, and since I abhor the ritual, that isn’t often.”
“You aren’t very subtle, Lucien.”
His smile was bland. “But then again, I wasn’t trying to be.”
“I gathered that.” For all her opulent allure and overt sensuality, Catherine wasn’t a fool, and her eyes narrowed a fraction. She negligently adjusted her skirt. “I’ve never known you to be protective before.”
He could have pretended to
“But it isn’t something women
do
.”
“Some women don’t do it. That’s different. What would be better, if she liked fashionable gowns instead?”
“It is obvious she doesn’t.” Catherine lifted one brow in a sardonic arch. “And you aren’t interested in women like her. Or at least your cock isn’t. Tell me, how are you going to fuck your little bluestocking bride? Will you discuss the spring crops beforehand?”
He experienced a flicker of irritation over the crudity, but then again, Catherine enjoyed shocking people and she was notoriously spoiled. Their brief affair had been a mistake and he’d ended it once he realized that the idea of one day being a duchess had prompted the invitation into her bed. They had stayed friends to a certain extent, and he always wondered if she hadn’t quite given up hope that he might change his mind and be coaxed into proposing one day.
Not a chance in hell. He’d found her amusing for her unabashed shallowness and ambition, not to mention her blatant sexuality, but he had no doubt that she made a much better mistress than she ever would a wife. “Maybe,” he said softly, “you just never got to know more of me than my cock, but that doesn’t surprise either of us, does it?”
It was clear she wasn’t sure whether or not to be insulted, but in the end, she chose to just laugh. “And a glorious cock it is, darling.”
“The compliment humbles me.”
“Pfft. As if you are ever humble. Why is it I had the impression your brother was going to marry the Lacrosse girl?”
First she was a
creature
and then a
girl
. Considering Vivian was neither, he was hard-pressed to not say something scathing in return, but then again, Catherine had never been all that versed in subtlety in the first place, so it might just confuse her and prolong the visit. “Why exactly are you here?”
“Darling . . . people are talking.”
That translated to her rising at what she considered to be an obscene hour and coming to see him in person to gather information so she could talk more than everyone else. “They always are.”
“About you? Not usually. But then again, you keep your private affairs . . . well, private. Even when we were involved, you insisted we be discreet.”
Lucien leaned back in his chair. “I tried, anyway. If I recall all the rumors, you didn’t cooperate like a lady should, my dear Cat. Who is the one who has no sense of propriety?”
She waved a careless hand, her voluptuous body languid in the chair. “I’ve never cared about that.”
It was true. She was the daughter of a merchant banker who owned about half of London, and the widow of an elderly viscount she had shamelessly married for his social position.
“Some of us do care,” he informed her, thinking of his father’s disapproval of Charles’s sometimes dissolute lifestyle. In truth, his brother was probably not as promiscuous as all the gossip suggested, he just didn’t worry about discretion. Lucien, on the other hand, had learned at a very young age that his position made him vulnerable to scandal, and he had no interest in having half of England discussing his personal life.
Case in point: his affair with Catherine. He unfortunately understood the parameters of her good behavior thanks to previous experience. First and foremost she took care of herself and it was clear she was pouting over his engagement. “I think that since I am engaged, you should no doubt limit your visits to afternoon tea, should there ever be any offered here, and since I abhor the ritual, that isn’t often.”
“You aren’t very subtle, Lucien.”
His smile was bland. “But then again, I wasn’t trying to be.”
“I gathered that.” For all her opulent allure and overt sensuality, Catherine wasn’t a fool, and her eyes narrowed a fraction. She negligently adjusted her skirt. “I’ve never known you to be protective before.”
He could have pretended to
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