How to Deceive a Duke by Lecia Cornwall Read Free Book Online

of tears behind her eyes, and forced them away as she always did when she thought of him. There was no time to cry, and hadn’t been since the day he’d— no! She swallowed the rise of her stomach. “The duchess is sending her coach tomorrow at eleven o’clock to take Mama and Rose to the church,” she said, changing the subject.
    Hector’s face twisted. “I said I’d see to it in the morning!” he said harshly, then his face fell. “God, I’m sorry, Meg. It’s not your fault. Go to bed and try not to worry.”
    She sent up a prayer for her sister as she climbed the stairs, wished her safe. She passed her mother’s door, heard her sobbing. She paused with her hand on the latch. Flora was about to lose everything yet again. First she had faced her husband’s death, followed by the discovery that he had left his family penniless. Then Rose had disappeared, and left her family to face the scandal.
    Anger flared, and she let go of the latch and stepped away. What was there to say? Flora would be inconsolable for days. She cursed her sister’s inconsiderate behavior. What did it matter that Temberlay wasn’t to Rose’s taste, that he wasn’t a fawning young officer willing to fall at her feet in adoration? His money would have gone a long way to make him bearable. Rose would only have had to put up with him long enough to give him an heir, and how long could that take? After that, well, husbands and wives lived apart all the time in fashionable circles. Rose could have lived her own life, chosen her own amusements, and had the full enjoyment of Temberlay’s vast wealth.
    She went into the bedroom that had been prepared for Rose. The wedding gown was hanging up so it wouldn’t get creased, and in the pale light shining in from the street outside, the dress greeted her like Rose’s ghost. She crossed and touched it, and the silk warmed under her fingers like living flesh. The dress was lovely, a confection. Madame Mathilde had outdone herself. How sad that no one would ever wear it.
    She took it down and held it against her chest, and looked into the mirror. In the dim light, the transformation was remarkable. She might have been Rose, if her hair was blond. How often had her father despaired that she was not like the rest of his perfect blossoms? She was the wildflower among roses. But in this moment, she looked like a bride.
    She wondered what it would feel like to be his bride.
    She would probably never wed. She faced a future as a spinster, governess to other women’s children.
    Fiercely, she stripped to her shift, and put on the gown. The silk sighed as it slid over her body.
    She lit a candle, and turned to the mirror again. It fit like it had been made for her. A wry smile twisted her lips. It had been made for her. It wasn’t Rose’s dress—she had never even seen it. Would she have changed her mind about marrying Temberlay if she had?
    Meg gathered her hair and piled it atop her head, arching her neck, pursing her lips, posing. On a whim, she picked up one of the lacy negligees the maid hadn’t packed yet, and draped it over her head. The scalloped hem dipped over her eyes, and only her lips showed.
    Meg’s heart stopped. She blinked. The layers of white lace slipped from her fingers, and her hair tumbled around her shoulders. She stared into her own eyes in the mirror.
    Did she dare?
    If she were caught, the scandal would be even worse. But if she succeeded . . .
    She found pins, fixed the makeshift veil more firmly in place, and looked again.

Chapter 7
    “W here is he, St. James?”
    Sebastian St. James shook his head to clear it as he faced Nicholas’s grandmother. It was like being cornered by a tiger, the man-eating kind that didn’t bother with niceties like “good morning” before devouring a chap whole.
    “Isn’t he here?” he squeaked, and cleared his throat. He’d just arrived at Hartley Place to accompany Nicholas to his wedding. Although it was nearly eleven o’clock, it