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

and less-than-gentlemanly offer or if I dislike you for the same reason.”
    “I vote for liking me.”
    She turned fully to him and he had the unholy desire to take her hand in his. He resisted.
    “So there is nothing I can offer you?” He paused. “March?”
    Her large gray eyes stared at him. He could swear he saw a moment of sadness before one brow arched. “Well, now that you mention it, there is one thing.”
    “Anything,” he breathed with relief now that marriage was off of his dish.
    “You can promise on your honor never to drink a drop of spirits again.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    A gurgle of laughter rolled through the night air. “This is not going in your favor, you know. You’re making it too obvious that the idea of marriage to me is more offensive to you than the trial of living your life without wine and whiskey. Or absinthe.”
    He scratched the back of head. It always itched at the hairline when he was hot. “That is absolutely not true.” But he was afraid it absolutely was true.
    “How about if you just make the promise and then all will be forgiven and forgotten.”
    “But why on earth would you ask this of me? It’s absurd.”
    “You asked for a way to thank me. This is how.”
    “You sound like a governess, March.”
    “Good,” she replied. “Perhaps you need governing.”
    “That’s just the sort of thing to say to a man who you want to scare off.” He shook his head and chuckled.
    “Perhaps I want to scare you off, Your Grace,” she said so quietly he had to lean in to hear the tail end.
    “If I must address you as March, then you must address me as Montagu,” he said. “Actually, it will be a refreshing change from my cursed title.”
    “All right,” she said. “Montagu.”
    He took up one of her hands and kissed the back of it impulsively, before leaning in toward her startled, wide eyes. In that instant, she distinctively had the look of a lady who wanted desperately to be kissed. He knew that look very well. And he was happy to oblige since—
    A rustle of footsteps and low conversation interrupted them. Roman turned his head slightly only to see a small group of people strolling toward them from the village green. He stepped away from Lady Derby.
    “Hey ho,” a deep voice boomed.
    Good God, it was that boorish gossip, King. Roman raised a hand in greeting.
    “What luck,” Mr. King said, drawing near with a lady on each arm. Two gentlemen and another lady drew abreast. “Your Grace, I have been meaning to find you. And good evening to you too, Lady Derby. Oh dear, I hope I have not interrupted anything.” He wore a smile that pretended to know everything when he actually knew not a whit.
    “Your servant, Mr. King,” Roman replied, annoyed. He refused to offer up an excuse. It would sound damning to the idiot in front of him.
    The stout, tall man stopped and turned to look first at Lady Derby for a long moment and then to Roman. “Hmmm. Well, you still have not told us how you came to be aboard The Drake .”
    “Why do you ask, sir?”
    “Out of concern, of course.”
    “Of course,” Roman echoed smoothly.
    Mr. King eyed him like a hungry boa constrictor regretting the impossibility of a sleeping tiger.
    “So?”
    “So?” Roman replied.
    “The reason you were not on the manifest, Your Grace?”
    “The reason?” Roman dissembled.
    “Yes.”
    “I see,” he evaded. “Lady Shelby, how lovely you are tonight, my dear. And how is Lord Shelby?”
    The lady on Mr. King’s arm smiled. “Shelby is very fine. Shooting all the ducks he can find at the Abbey, in fact. He never stops until the frost drives him from his blinds. He—”
    One of the gentlemen cleared his throat and she stumbled to a stop. “I apologize, Your Grace, I did not mean to . . .”
    “Of course, you did not, madam.”
    “And what finds you here with His Grace, Lady Derby?” Mr. King’s smile showed all of his teeth. “I see you managed to find accommodations very well,