Read Online When You Give a Duke a Diamond by Shana Galen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shana Galen
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began walking away.
Pelham grasped her arm again and hissed. Devil take it if he didn’t touch that velvet skin again. But he didn’t release her this time. Only because he didn’t want her to get away. Not because he enjoyed touching that silky skin.
And oh, what an accomplished liar he was becoming.
“You’re coming with me,” he told her. “I don’t know what’s frightening you, but you can explain in my coach.”
“I’m not…” But she looked over her shoulder and seemed to reconsider. “Very well. You do realize, Your Grace”—somehow she made the title sound like an epithet—“that your actions tonight only confirm the rumors about us and incite new ones.”
Reluctantly, Pelham looked over his own shoulder. A crowd of onlookers was watching them, most of them murmuring and whispering behind their hands. He scowled at them, and several scurried away. Others took a step back.
“I’ll squash any further rumors,” Pelham said between clenched teeth.
“Wonderful,” she muttered.
He signaled to his coachman, and his carriage was beside them in mere moments. A footman opened the door and handed the duchess up. He was right beside her. Once inside, he closed the curtains and instructed his coachman to wait.
He turned his attention to the woman across from him and tried not to stare. The color was high in her cheeks, and her eyes were bright. He did not think it possible, but she was even lovelier than when he’d first seen her tonight.
His gaze—completely of its own accord—flicked to her mouth. She’d rouged it, because it was far too perfectly red to be natural. It reminded him of some exotic fruit, and he desperately wanted to sample it. One kiss…
He tightened his hands on his knees. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t kiss her. She wasn’t an acceptable kissing partner in the least. She was a courtesan—a whore. She seduced men for money, and he was falling under her spell.
She narrowed her icy blue eyes at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He blinked. “I…” He couldn’t think of an answer. What was happening to him? He was no schoolboy, falling over his feet or his tongue around a pretty girl. Come to think of it, even when he had been a schoolboy, he hadn’t fallen over his feet or his tongue. Such behavior wouldn’t have been tolerated.
She was still looking at him, so he blurted out the first thing that came to his, admittedly, befuddled mind. “What is your name?” Darlington had told him, but he couldn’t seem to remember at the moment.
She shook her head slightly. “That’s what you want to know? At a time like this? Lucifer is going to kill me. I saw—I saw—” She clenched her fist and took a deep breath. “Why are we sitting here? Let’s get away. While we still can!”
“We are sitting here until you explain precisely what it is you think you saw. I will not be trifled with, madam. Now, I’d like to refer to you by some type of name, and I have an objection—I’m sure you understand why—to calling you Duchess . So what is your surname?”
She massaged her temples. “You are a vexing man, but if this is the game you want to play, I can play, too. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine.”
“You know my name. I’m the Duke of Pelham.” He moved slightly, put his hand on the coach’s squabs, and felt the fine kid leather of his gloves. Thank God something was going right.
“Oh, no. If we are going to sit in a dark carriage and exchange secrets—”
He paused in the act of pulling on his gloves. “I didn’t say anything about secrets.” But suddenly he was wondering about them, wondering what hers might be and how he might discover them.
“Then the very least you can do is reveal your Christian name.”
He stared at her. “I am a duke. The sixth Duke of Pelham. That means you call me Your Grace or, if you are one of my familiars—which you are not— Pelham , or if you are a social equal—which you are
Pelham grasped her arm again and hissed. Devil take it if he didn’t touch that velvet skin again. But he didn’t release her this time. Only because he didn’t want her to get away. Not because he enjoyed touching that silky skin.
And oh, what an accomplished liar he was becoming.
“You’re coming with me,” he told her. “I don’t know what’s frightening you, but you can explain in my coach.”
“I’m not…” But she looked over her shoulder and seemed to reconsider. “Very well. You do realize, Your Grace”—somehow she made the title sound like an epithet—“that your actions tonight only confirm the rumors about us and incite new ones.”
Reluctantly, Pelham looked over his own shoulder. A crowd of onlookers was watching them, most of them murmuring and whispering behind their hands. He scowled at them, and several scurried away. Others took a step back.
“I’ll squash any further rumors,” Pelham said between clenched teeth.
“Wonderful,” she muttered.
He signaled to his coachman, and his carriage was beside them in mere moments. A footman opened the door and handed the duchess up. He was right beside her. Once inside, he closed the curtains and instructed his coachman to wait.
He turned his attention to the woman across from him and tried not to stare. The color was high in her cheeks, and her eyes were bright. He did not think it possible, but she was even lovelier than when he’d first seen her tonight.
His gaze—completely of its own accord—flicked to her mouth. She’d rouged it, because it was far too perfectly red to be natural. It reminded him of some exotic fruit, and he desperately wanted to sample it. One kiss…
He tightened his hands on his knees. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t kiss her. She wasn’t an acceptable kissing partner in the least. She was a courtesan—a whore. She seduced men for money, and he was falling under her spell.
She narrowed her icy blue eyes at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He blinked. “I…” He couldn’t think of an answer. What was happening to him? He was no schoolboy, falling over his feet or his tongue around a pretty girl. Come to think of it, even when he had been a schoolboy, he hadn’t fallen over his feet or his tongue. Such behavior wouldn’t have been tolerated.
She was still looking at him, so he blurted out the first thing that came to his, admittedly, befuddled mind. “What is your name?” Darlington had told him, but he couldn’t seem to remember at the moment.
She shook her head slightly. “That’s what you want to know? At a time like this? Lucifer is going to kill me. I saw—I saw—” She clenched her fist and took a deep breath. “Why are we sitting here? Let’s get away. While we still can!”
“We are sitting here until you explain precisely what it is you think you saw. I will not be trifled with, madam. Now, I’d like to refer to you by some type of name, and I have an objection—I’m sure you understand why—to calling you Duchess . So what is your surname?”
She massaged her temples. “You are a vexing man, but if this is the game you want to play, I can play, too. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine.”
“You know my name. I’m the Duke of Pelham.” He moved slightly, put his hand on the coach’s squabs, and felt the fine kid leather of his gloves. Thank God something was going right.
“Oh, no. If we are going to sit in a dark carriage and exchange secrets—”
He paused in the act of pulling on his gloves. “I didn’t say anything about secrets.” But suddenly he was wondering about them, wondering what hers might be and how he might discover them.
“Then the very least you can do is reveal your Christian name.”
He stared at her. “I am a duke. The sixth Duke of Pelham. That means you call me Your Grace or, if you are one of my familiars—which you are not— Pelham , or if you are a social equal—which you are
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