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

dancing with your daughter later this evening, Lady Portmeadow,” the duke said, his tone strongly suggesting that their hostess withdraw. The lady’s eyes were eagerly darting between the two of them as if she were taking notes for the twopenny press.
    There was no need to be impolite to their hostess merely because she was a bit nosy, so Merry gave the duke a look that said as much. “I expect you’ll wish to ask Miss Portmeadow for a minuet, Your Grace. She is one of the most accomplished young ladies of my acquaintance, and she dances beautifully. ”
    “Spoken like the sister you shall soon be!” Lady Portmeadow exclaimed. “Now that your brother has found a wife, Your Grace, you must look for a duchess. Why, we scarcely see you in society!”
    “I do not enjoy dancing,” the duke stated.
    “Ah, but Miss Portmeadow is divinely graceful,” Merry insisted. If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that she didn’t want the duke to think that she had any interest in dancing with him.
    “Miss Pelford, when will you marry Lord Cedric?” Lady Portmeadow asked brightly.
    Merry winced inwardly. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that her third engagement would be her last.
    “We have yet to make plans.” She forced her mouth into a smile.
    The duke’s expression darkened as if he might explode. Apparently, he disapproved.
    Cedric had described his brother as dictatorial, not to mention ill-disposed toward Americans. As head of the family, he might believe that he had power over his brother’s decisions.
    If that was the case, His Grace would have to learn differently. American women did not allow themselves to be pushed about by a man simply because he was titled.
    Merry straightened her shoulders and turned to their hostess. “You must put the duke down for Miss Portmeadow’s supper dance,” she said sweetly. “As part of the family, I shall make it one of my first tasks to see that His Grace finds a wife.”
    Lady Portmeadow seemed surprised by the suggestion, but as Merry surmised, she was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. If the Duke of Trent took Miss Portmeadow in to supper, eligible gentlemen would take notice. She smiled, waggled her fingers, and slipped away before His Grace could say yea or nay.
    They stood looking at one another silently. The duke had a cross look on his face. Even so, he was wickedly handsome—as handsome as Cedric.
    In that instant she realized exactly why he didn’t care for the idea that Cedric was marrying her. It had nothing to do with her nationality or his right to approve of his brother’s spouse.
    It was their conversation on the balcony. The duke thought she was a trollop, a woman who accosted utter strangers and flirted with them in the near dark.
    It was unfortunate—indeed, it was humiliating—that they had met under such improper circumstances. But it had happened and there was no wishing it away. They had to acknowledge it and move on.
    With that in mind, she pushed her untouched glass of wine into his hand. He took it, looking faintly surprised.
    Then she put her hands on her hips, just as Aunt Bess always did when she was vexed. “Why on earth are you dressed so plainly? You don’t look like a duke.”
    “How would you possibly know, Miss Pelford? I can assure you, if you didn’t grasp it yourself, that the Duke of Villiers’s sartorial foibles are not representative of those of his rank.”
    “I cannot be the first person who has misconstrued your rank. You look like a Quaker—certainly not ducal.”
    “I needn’t dress to advertise,” he said dryly. “People give me the same admiration as a five-legged calf without prompting.”
    Well, spit. He was a living example of why people bowed and scraped in front of dukes. There was something so powerful and just plain imposing about him that even she had the impulse to try to assuage his temper.
    She took her hands off her hips, because the posture wasn’t natural for