The Duke's Obsession (Entangled Scandalous) by Frances Fowlkes Read Free Book Online

harbor…
    “Really? I’m told those very same forests are teeming with violent and bloodthirsty savages.”
    Daphne glared up at the duke. “The same could be said to describe London’s hovels.”
    The duke’s smile turned lupine. “Violent the hovels may be, Miss Farrington, but many of His Majesty’s finest sailors are plucked from its streets.”
    She knew full well it was not in her best interest to provoke the duke, which was why, when she replied, she did so in her nicest, friendliest voice, “Ah, yes. You must be referring to the fine specimens of naval supremacy that were somehow defeated on two separate occasions by the smaller American navy.”
    The duke’s chin rose ever so slightly, the smile on his lips waning. “The English defeated Napoleon, Miss Farrington. I hardly think the Americans, who rely more on luck than trusted and disciplined military tactics, could have done something similar. Why, the only reason His Majesty’s navy was defeated was because we were occupied with more weighty opponents.”
    With a silent remonstrance to lighten her tone and not antagonize the man, Daphne began to count. Fittingly enough, in French. Un…deux…
    She took a deep breath and returned the duke’s smile. “Weighty opponents Napoleon and the French may be, Your Grace, but they were still defeated by the British. The Americans, however, were not.”
    The duke plucked a rose blossoming beside her waist. The sleeve of his coat brushed against her, the small movement causing her face to flush. Why her traitorous body responded so readily to his presence when he aggravated her with his comments, was beyond her comprehension. Did it not know to whom it reacted?
    “Miss Farrington,” the duke began, twirling the rose between his fingers. Daphne’s eyes were drawn to the small movement, his careless, yet graceful action filling her with a yearning to be touched, if only for a moment, by the leather-encased fingers.
    Trois . Daphne held up her hand, eager to quit the conversation. Clearly her mind was befuddled because her thoughts were straying to the absurd. “I really must return to my aunt. Thank you for your time, Your Grace.” She curtsied and turned to make her way toward the end of the waist-high maze.
    His hand reached for her, the smooth, supple leather of his glove clamping over her wrist. “Miss Farrington, please. If I cannot persuade you to remain here, then allow me to escort you back to Lady Amhurst.”
    No doubt he could feel the racing of her pulse as it hummed beneath his grasp. With a slight twist of her wrist she was free of his hand, but not from the thoughts his touch elicited, of a deepening attraction, an unlikely affection, and the sudden desire to feel the warmth of his fingers against the back of her neck, pulling her into his embrace…
    Daphne shook her head, her eyes landing on the light brown jacket and black curls of Lord Westbrook. Hardly an ideal replacement: after all, he was just as English as the duke. But her aunt and cousins were nowhere to be found. And the duke was too infuriating, too English, too…well, ducal with the nerve to be proud of his heritage, for her to remain beside him an instant longer.
    “I don’t wish to encroach on your time any longer, Your Grace. You have other guests demanding your attention and Lord Westbrook can ably provide escort.”

Chapter Four
    Edward tried not to stare as Miss Farrington dashed toward Westbrook, the pink ribbon at her waist whipping behind her in the breeze.
    What the devil just happened?
    He glanced down at the red blossom he still held between his fingers and frowned. He’d been rather attentive, nay, accommodating even, especially considering that his nation’s military had been belittled and his homeland insulted. Why, when he really stopped to think about it, he’d been rather kind.
    And to what purpose? Had she not left, eager to sprint away from what she perceived as his vile presence, only to run to another