Romancing the Duke by Tessa Dare Read Free Book Online Page A

Duck.”
    Duck?
    She was still blinking at him in confusion when a strange sound tugged her attention aside. It sounded like . . . a great amount of wet laundry, flapping on the line in a stiff breeze.
    She turned away from the window.
    Oh, Lord.
    Before her eyes, the vast bed canopy seemed to come alive. First, it began to shimmer, then to ripple—like a quicksilver cloak caught by the wind.
    Then small pieces of it began to break away, one by one, each following the other.
    “Oh, no.” She stiffened. “Those can’t be . . .”
    They were.
    Bats.
    An entire colony of them had been roosting in the highest reaches of the canopy. Now they took wing one by one, then ten by ten . . . and then hundreds all at once.
    She turned—just in time to see another black, swarming cloud pouring down the chimney. There must have been thousands.
    And all of them were flooding straight for the windows.
    “Duck,” he repeated. “Now.”
    When she didn’t immediately react, the duke wrapped his arms about her and hauled her toward the floor.
    In seconds, the bats were everywhere, swarming above them in a roiling black cloud. Izzy ducked her head and took the shelter he offered. His chin tucked hard on her head, and she could feel his whiskers rasping against her scalp.
    And through it all, his heart pounded, strong and steady. She clutched his shirt in both hands, burying her face in that constant rhythm, until it was all she could hear. No flapping. No screeching. Just thump-thump-thump.
    At last, he lifted his head.
    Izzy did the same. “I thought you said this was the best room.”
    “Nothing wrong with it,” he said. “They’re all out. Won’t be back until morning. It’s safe now.”
    Oh, it was anything but safe. Now it was nightfall, and she was stuck in this haunted, infested castle. In the arms of this tormenting, intriguing, devious duke. She didn’t know what to do with him. She didn’t even know what to do with herself.
    Flailing her hands and stammering were all that came to mind. Neither idea seemed useful in the least.
    And then . . . she felt a little scratching sensation.
    Just behind her ear.
    And all she could do was shriek.
    R ansom was just about to release her when she latched onto him with sudden force.
    “Help me.” Her whisper trembled. Her body did, too.
    “What is it?” he asked.
    “B-b-bat.”
    He almost smiled despite himself. “The b-b-bats are all gone, Miss Goodnight.”
    “No, they’re not. They’re not. There’s one caught in my hair.”
    “There’s nothing in your hair. That’s an old wives’ tale. Bats don’t get caught in people’s hair.”
    “There. Is. One. In. My. Hair,” she pronounced in distinct syllables, each word rising a halftone in inflection. And then, in one frantic high-pitched squeal: “Getitout!”
    To be sure, bats didn’t normally get caught in people’s hair. But he’d forgotten, hers wasn’t normal hair. This curly mane of hers could snare a rabbit. Perhaps a horse.
    Ransom worried, as he plunged his fingers into her dense, wavy locks, that this hair could possibly ensnare him.
    It had his curiosity entangled, that was certain. These locks must be dark. She sounded dark-haired, with that sultry voice, and most girls with hair this aggressively curly were dark. And if her hair was dark, her eyes were probably dark, too.
    Before he could quash it, an image bloomed in his mind’s eye. A raven-haired, dark-eyed beauty with plump, red lips.
    “Keep still,” he said.
    That goes for you, too, he told the stirrings in his groin.
    He wove his fingers into her roots near the scalp and shook the curls apart. “Did that free it?”
    “No. It’s still there. I can feel it.” A shudder ran through her.
    “I see how it is. You’re a strong, independent woman of property. Right up to the moment something creeping or crawling comes along. Then it’s, ‘Oh, dear! Oh, help!’ ”
    She growled.
    “It’s small,” he told her, having found the