My American Duchess by Eloisa James Read Free Book Online Page A

balcony to laughter.
    That was foolishness, a symptom of the fickle nature shehad developed in the last few years. What sort of woman had she become? One who could never keep a vow? A capricious flibbertigibbet?
    Her father would be so ashamed.
    She was ashamed.
    After she’d returned Bertie’s ring, eight months had passed before she’d met Dermot; then another thirteen between her disengagement from Dermot and meeting Cedric. This time, she was scarcely betrothed to one man before thinking about another. She shuddered, thinking of her own inconstancy.
    A momentary foolishness on a balcony was forgivable. But she refused to be a flighty, vacillating little fool who would consider ending things with Cedric for such a stupid reason.
    With that thought, she made up her mind to find her fiancé in the card room or wherever he was and demonstrate how much she cared for him.
    No, adored him. How much she adored him.
    A lady wasn’t supposed to express affection in public, but he would simply have to endure it. She glanced at Lady Caroline and Mr. Hampster, but they were paying no attention to her. She walked a step or two away so that she could set her wineglass down on a small table. Then she tugged off her left glove, followed by her betrothal ring, and replaced them, this time with the diamond ring outside the glove.
    She didn’t care for the look, but there were women who did. Some had four or five rings crammed over their gloves.
    Her ring sparkled in the light thrown by the chandeliers. It really was beautiful. A woman who wore a diamond engagement ring, she reminded herself, did not throw over the fiancé who had presented her with that ring.
    “Miss Pelford.”
    Merry picked up her drink and turned to greet her hostess with a sigh of relief. Itemizing the defects in her character was making her head ache.
    “Miss Pelford,” Lady Portmeadow said, “I am honored to introduce you to the Duke of Trent, who expressed a wish to meet his future sister-in-law. Your Grace, this is Miss Pelford, who hails from Boston, originally. In America, you understand.”
    Merry looked up. And froze.
    She should be curtsying. She should be saying something—anything! Instead, she stared silently and then, as if she were assembling a puzzle, his face began to look familiar.
    Before her stood the austerely dressed man from the balcony. Or, as he had been introduced, the Duke of Trent.
    Cedric’s twin brother.
    His hair was dark and gold, the color of winter wheat, whereas her future husband’s hair was lighter, like chaff in the sunlight. She hadn’t see his eyes clearly in the dusky light outdoors, but now she discovered they were blue—not Cedric’s lazy, sweet blue, but a dark, demanding hue.
    He was more muscled than Cedric—she disliked exceptionally muscled men, she reminded herself—but she would guess that he was the same height, to the half inch.
    She should curtsy.
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she exclaimed without thinking. “Did you know who I was?”
    “You’ve met,” Lady Portmeadow cried, her head swiveling between them. “Your Grace, why did you—”
    “We had not been formally introduced,” the duke bit out. “And no, Miss Pelford, I had no idea who you were.”
    He appeared unamused. Merry’s heart sank to thebottom of her slippers. Likely he thought that Cedric should have introduced the two of them. Merry had to admit that she agreed.
    But he bowed, so Merry responded with a hasty curtsy. As she straightened, she glanced around, hoping to see Cedric. Her mind was reeling with the fact that she had unwittingly engaged in a tête-à-tête with her fiancé’s brother.
    It was unthinkable. How could the laughing stranger on the balcony, the man who made her feel witty and desirable, be the brother whom Cedric had described with such disdain?
    There was something very unsettling about having had a flirtatious conversation with one’s brother-in-law.
    Almost brother-in-law.
    “I look forward to