No Groom at the Inn: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novella by Megan Frampton Read Free Book Online Page B

gaze he winked at her, which just made her want to laugh and smack him at the same time.
    Or do something else entirely.
    Oh, dear. She had known him for no more than a few days, and she was already entranced by his charm. Not really a surprise, given how charming in general he was. But dangerous—her father had been equally charming, albeit in an entirely different way, and she couldn’t trust charm like that. What was it hiding? The inability to plan ahead? A need to do what one wanted—read books or travel to exotic lands—rather than taking care of one’s responsibilities?
    Rather than choose to live a compromised life?
    Fine. She could admire him, even find him charming, but she could not trust him. In the time she’d known him, he’d come up with an elaborate ruse to avoid matrimony, risked discovery by teasing her, and nearly made her give herself away through laughter.
    Although she could admire him, as she’d said, and she most definitely did that. She hadn’t known before that a gentleman’s appearance could have such a— visceral effect on her, even though that was likely entirely the wrong word.
    Sorry, Father.
    Disturbing. Enchanting. Beguiling . He was fascinating, and she teased herself now with the thought that perhaps it would not be so bad to allow herself some harmless fun and flirtation while she was inhabiting this disguise.
    It would be entirely expected, would it not? After all, a distant betrothed would be seen as even less of an impediment to a marriage-minded miss (or her mother) than one who was constantly hanging around her beloved.
    So she would constantly hang around him, if only to satisfy their bargain, and to ensure he wasn’t trapped by someone else while they were here.
    It would be a lovely Christmas present to give herself, something she hadn’t even known she wanted, but now she knew about it, it was all she could think about.
    Thus settled, Sophronia listened as Mrs. Green laid out the very exact details of their day.
    M ornings, Jamie invariably found, came far too early. Especially when one’s hostess insisted on speaking very stridently before one had had one’s full complement of coffee.
    He’d discovered the beverage while traveling in Turkey, and while English people didn’t make the drink with as much ferocity as the Turks did, he found it essential to his ability to remain awake during the first few hours of the day.
    “Did you sleep well, Jamie?” His mother patted his hand as she spoke, and he covered it with his own in an almost unconscious gesture. It had always been this way—her worrying about him even though she usually had no resources to solve what might have been bothering him, and often exacerbating the problem.
    Such as arranging his presence at a house party with a veritable cricket team’s worth of eligible young ladies. His gaze darted to his betrothed, looking alert and untroubled at the other side of the breakfast table, her entire self exuding a quiet composure that settled him, somehow. Quieted his restless spirit.
    She truly was lovely. He didn’t think he would call her beautiful, necessarily, and “pretty” was far too mundane a word for how she glowed. She was striking, like a lush tree standing by itself in the middle of a green field. At the moment, all of her attention appeared to be on her breakfast, her gaze lowered to the plate in front of her, so he could look at her as much as he liked.
    And he found he liked to. The viscountess’s daughter, seated beside her, was pretty, definitely, but her looks seemed immature and insignificant when compared with Sophronia’s. Even Mrs. Green’s pleasant—and intelligent enough—daughter seemed less by comparison.
    Sophronia, his betrothed, was a woman, a strong, smart, capable woman. One who quaffed ale in a public house as easily as she did tea in a gentleman’s breakfast room. One who spoke of her childhood with a quiet solemnity, who found a way to soothe him through their common