The Art of Duke Hunting by Sophia Nash Read Free Book Online

trying to find the precise words that will leave you hanging on the fence, Lady Derby,” he said with an honesty that surprised her. He finally looked at her fully and smiled.
    “This should be interesting.”
    “Well, on the one hand, marrying me would be a good bargain for you. I will surely leave you a widow again at some point in the near future, with a fortune twice over.”
    Her lips parted slightly in surprise. “But I do not—”
    “No. Allow me to continue.” He raised his free hand. “But you see, the thing is, there is no guarantee precisely how long it will take. You might be stuck with me for longer than you’d like. But I could at least offer you a loftier station than you already occupy even if it does come with occasional mocking due to the unfortunate family history.”
    She was silent for a long while as they continued the march about the green, a full moon illuminating the lovely parish. He steered her toward the lane leading away from the village. The arc of a small stone bridge loomed not far away.
    She stopped at the height of the arch and released his arm to look down at the running stream. “I suppose I should thank you for your offer but I cannot.”
    He started.
    “You might reconsider your offer if you were better informed of my family, Your Grace.”
    “Please address me less formally.”
    “No.”
    “But we have shared—”
    “No, we did not share. I freely gave myself. It is not something that can be repaid—even with marriage. You discredit me by thinking thusly.”
    “But I am asking for the honor of your hand in marriage.” He continued with lowered voice. “Protocol demands it.”
    “Consider yourself off the hook,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips. “I have no need of the honor you do me nor do I place much value in protocol. I have more than I need in life, and I’ve never sought a loftier station. I am the daughter of an earl, and the wife of a deceased earl, and I shall go to my grave as such.”
    He waited for her to continue. She did not. “Have I insulted you, Esme?” he asked.
    “I did not give you leave to address me so intimately.”
    “Well, how should I address you in private? And I think it odd to address you in any other fashion given last night.” He scratched his head. “I had thought you would have received my addresses with—”
    “March.”
    “Pardon me?”
    “You may address me as March.”
    “And who is March?”
    “You would know if you had not drunk yourself to near oblivion.”
    He rolled his eyes. “Are you always this confounding?”
    “I don’t find it confusing at all. Gentlemen address each other by their family names or titles all the time. There. I have given you a hint as to why you may address me as March.”
    There was no recognition on his face. Not that she had thought there would be. March was her husband’s family name, not her father’s name, and certainly not her mother’s maiden name—the one that would surely draw horror on the duke’s face.
    At that precise moment, the mournful if not oddly discordant sound of a duck’s call echoed from above. Esme glanced skyward, but could not see the fowl in the darkness.
    But it was a sign.
    And Esme always paid attention to signs.
    Her intention of telling him who she really was evaporated into the night air as quickly as all her ridiculously romantic dreams of old.
    H e shook his head. He’d never met a lady who wanted to be treated like a man. She stroked the rail of the tiny bridge and the hairs prickled at the base of his neck. He knew precisely why. He could not help but remember what those same fingers had done to his back the evening before.
    “You will be happy to know you’ve achieved your goal,” she said.
    He could not make out her expression. “I don’t understand.” He sighed. “Again.”
    “I know you don’t,” she replied.
    “What goal?” he insisted.
    “That of leaving me on the fence. I cannot decide if I like you for your honesty