Read Online To Marry The Duke by Julianne MacLean - Free Book Online Page A

was it merely a hypothetical remark? She scrambled to fill the silence with a question while she recovered her equanimity. “You have a younger sister?”
    “Three, actually. Two are married. One lives in Scotland and the other in Wales. Wonderful young women, all of them. I’ve even been blessed with two delightful nieces and a nephew.”
    Sophia could feel her eyes widening with every word he spoke. He was not devilish at all—at least not tonight.
    “You like children, Your Grace?”
    “I adore them. Every country house should be filled to the brim with laughter and the pitter-patter of little feet—to coin a tired old phrase.”
    If he was trying to impress her, he was doing an excellent job.
    They began to talk about art again, discussing the latest trends and what the public galleries were displaying. They came to a Rembrandt, the
Young Woman Bathing
, and the duke reached out, as if he wanted to touch the canvas, but had to content himself with stroking the air in front of it. They admired the painting together for a moment.
    “Notice the broad, creamy strokes there on the camisole,” he said, his voice quiet—almost a whisper— for her ears only. “And the flat, opaque glaze of the pool. Such flawlessness in the reflection. And here… the directional shaping of the legs.” The duke’s large hand moved about, as if caressing the woman’s bare skin.
    Suddenly, a shiver coursed through Sophia’s veins as she imagined what his long fingers would feel like, moving up under her skirts and over her own bare thighs…
    She suspected that most women would be shocked at what she was thinking and what he was saying, and by the seductive movement of his hand. She was a little shocked herself. Yet she could feel her body growing warm and relaxed. She imagined what it would be like to be free to melt into his arms here in the gallery. To be carried to that settee over in the dimly lit corner and be eased down upon it.
    She worked hard not to sound breathless. “He is indeed a master.”
    Did the duke speak this way to everyone? she wondered. Or was he trying to seduce her? If he was, she would feel quite certain that he—with his own personal style of brushstrokes—was the true master this evening, for he knew exactly what he was doing. He was turning her into warm honey.
    They moved on down the long room and started up the other side. “Would you like to take a stroll through Hyde Park one day this week?” he asked. “The weather has been splendid lately. Wednesday perhaps?”
    She thought of Lord Whitby then, and wished he had not spoken to her first this evening, for she could not accept the duke’s invitation when she already had a previous engagement. She began to feel a slight sense of panic, as if so much rested upon the outcome of this singular moment.
    “Wednesday, Miss Wilson?” he pressed. “Or perhaps that is an inconvenient time.”
Oh
, he was retreating.
    “No, no. It’s not that, or rather… yes, that is
all
it is. An inconvenient time. Another day, perhaps?”
    “Thursday?”
    “Thursday will be delightful.” Her heart breathed a sigh of relief.
    “Excellent. Shall we return to the drawing room? No doubt your mother is wondering what has become of you.”
    Sophia strolled into the room and met her mother. The duke exchanged pleasantries with her, then went to join a group of gentlemen on the other side of the room. Sophia watched him with an odd feeling of apprehension, realizing that with her unanticipated, fiery attraction to this man, her first, superficial impressions were becoming less and less a part of her idea of him. That worried her to no end, for she did not usually permit a fire in her blood to gain control over her intellect.

    A few days later, hearing the clinking of plates in the dining room downstairs, Sophia took note of the time and realized how late it was. Her mother and Florence were having breakfast without her. With the help of her maid, Sophia quickly donned