The Duke's Daughter by Sasha Cottman Read Free Book Online Page A

English accent and European clip once more captured her imagination.
    ‘Lady Lucy,’ he said.
    She blinked hard with the sudden realisation that he was addressing her personally.
    ‘Mr Fox,’ she replied.
    ‘It is good to see you again,’ he said.
    ‘You look very smart this evening, Mr Fox. I must compliment you on your new wardrobe; Lord Langham has been generous,’ she said. Her gaze continued to roam appreciatively over his well-turned-out figure, only stopping when she got to his handsome face.
    As his expression turned to one of disappointment, panic gripped her. Had she just insulted him by making mention of his new clothing?
    Stupid girl, you had to throw that in his face. Of course he has new clothes. Why did you have to mention that he could not have afforded them himself? Why couldn’t you just say he looked smart?
    ‘Thank you, Lady Lucy, but I am certain it is I who should be making note of your lovely evening gown. The lilac suits you, as do the Scottish pearls of your necklace,’ he replied.
    Lucy gave a silent prayer of thanks that he did not mention the black rose pin she had worn especially for him. Remembering their exchange at Thaxter’s funeral, she could only hope Avery kept true to male form and had forgotten it.
    ‘And that beautiful rose pin; I remember it from when we met at St James Church,’ he added.
    Oh.
    The gentle blush which had been on Lucy’s face now burned bright red. She held her breath, hoping it would dampen the fire which flamed her whole face and cheeks, but to no avail.
    Avery held out his hand, and she shyly accepted it.
    ‘It was very considerate of you to continue to wear black for my brother, but I assure you it is no longer necessary. Of course, if you do remember him with fondness then you are quite within your rights to do so as his friend.’
    The last thing Lucy would have ever considered herself to be was a friend of Avery’s odious brother. Thaxter had been openly rude to both her and Millie in public. Tragic though the circumstances of his death had been, she had not shed a tear in the church. She had worn the brooch purely as a gesture of friendship for Avery. Now she felt ill at ease. It was apparent Avery held little affection for the memory of his brother. She made a mental note to slip the brooch off at the first available opportunity.
    David had made enough veiled remarks about Thaxter’s standing within the Langham household for her to understand the lack of regard in which the late Mr Fox had been held. Her brother’s face wore a look of strained wrath on the odd occasion that Thaxter’s name had been spoken in his presence since David had returned to London with Clarice. She suspected something unfortunate had occurred at Lord Langham’s Norfolk estate between David, Clarice and Thaxter, but whatever it was, no one was talking. What had transpired at Langham Hall was a closed matter.
    She half turned away before stopping. Now was the perfect time to engage him in conversation. To find out more about this intriguing man.
    ‘Mr Fox, I cannot quite place your accent. I know from speaking to your late brother that your family hails from Whitby in Yorkshire, but there is something else in your speech. Pray tell where else have you lived?’
    It was a bold move, but since they were at a private party it was acceptable for social strictures to be somewhat more relaxed.
    She caught the quizzical look on his face.
    ‘Whitby? Yes of course,’ he replied.
    A thrill ran down her spine. His reaction to his supposed place of origin had her mind racing with possibilities. Could Thaxter have lied about his family’s origins? And if so, why would Avery continue with the fabrication?
    Eve was right. The Fox family were strangers. The man standing before her had a hidden past. And yet his intriguing accent had her struggling for breath every time he spoke.
    ‘I spent many years in Portugal, serving in His Majesty’s army. I hadn’t realised how much of an