The Duke’s Desire by Margaret Moore Read Free Book Online

Nancy’s language before, with mixed results. At least this time, her choice of chastisement was relatively minor.
    With a rueful shrug, Nancy gathered up her skirts and proceeded to climb out, while Verity ran a fond gaze over her comfortable, half-timbered house. Daniel had been a prosperous wool merchant who used local weavers working in their own cottages to manufacture very fine quality goods. He had purchased this home for her before they were married.
    Daniel had possessed a more gregarious nature than she at that time in her life, yet he had kindly accepted her desire to live outside the village, away from prying, if well-meaning, neighbors.
    She had always loved this house’s extra privacy, for it was well hidden from the road and surrounded by a stone wall, as well as tall oak and chestnut trees. A small wood complete with babbling stream ran across the back of the property.
    The leaves of the chestnut trees were turning golden, and the beeches were reddening. Jocelyn would be able to pick elderberries soon, and mushrooms, too. Verity could hear finches singing in the trees, and the harsh caw of a rook in the distance.
    Adjoining her land was the large estate of Sir Myron Thorpe, a man of about thirty whose primary interest in life seemed to be hunting and fishing. They were nodding acquaintances only, for Verity did not much care to go about in company, and his company seemed primarily composed of men anyway.
    As much as Verity loved the house, so did Jocelyn. Shortly after Daniel’s death, Verity had tentatively suggested moving into the town, only to see her daughter dissolve into sobs at the very notion. Truth be told, Verity had been relieved, for she did not want to leave her secure seclusion, either.
    “Visiting is all very well,” Verity said with a sigh as she reached up to help Jocelyn down, “but there’s nothing like home, when all is said and done.”
    “I’m hungry,” her daughter announced as she set foot on the drive.
    “I’ll get you something while Nancy deals with the baggage,” Verity replied as she took Jocelyn’s hand to lead her into the house.
    From outside, all seemed exactly as they had left it.
    But when she put her hand on the latch of the heavy carved door, she realized it was already open.
    Trying to remain calm, she let go of Jocelyn’s hand and stepped back warily. “Will you please ask Nancy if she needs any assistance?” she said, smiling at her daughter.
    “But —”
    “Please, Jocelyn.”
    Frowning, Jocelyn did as her mother asked.
    When she had turned and gone back down the steps, Verity slowly pushed open the door and peered cautiously into the front entryway.
    “Why, my dear Verity, here you are!” Clive Blackstone cried as he appeared at the entrance to her parlor, his lips drawn back in a smile over his crooked front teeth.
    Verity would have been happier to encounter a housebreaker, or even the Duke of Deighton, than her obsequious brother-in-law.
    “Yes, here you are,” Daniel’s sister, Fanny, quietly echoed from behind him.
    Her thin body shrouded in a dark gray cloak, and with her pale face and large, cowlike eyes, she looked like a wraith in the shadows, a distinct contrast to her gaudily attired husband. Clive wore a mustard-colored jacket, burgundy waistcoat with a gold pattern upon it and striped brown trousers. A bulging valise was at his feet.
    “We came to visit and were shocked to realize you were not at home,” the towheaded, middle-aged Clive said as he waited for Verity to approach.
    As if this were his house, not hers.
    Despite her annoyance, she forced a smile ontoher face. “I’m sorry we were not here when you arrived,” she said evenly.
    She always forced herself to speak calmly when she was with the Blackstones, especially since Daniel’s death. She would give them no cause to quarrel with her. “However did you manage to get inside?”
    “Oh, did you not know we had a key? Dear Daniel was good enough to give Fanny one