The Tenacious Miss Tamerlane by Kasey Michaels Read Free Book Online

“Aunt,” he called out, taking a step
toward the door. “You have not been introduced to—oh, damn and
blast, why do I bother?” he ended as the last row of flounce
disappeared up the staircase.
    He approached his cousin and opened his mouth
for, unbelievably, yet another apology, but Tansy forestalled him
by saying, “If it is of any consolation, your grace, you have my
deepest sympathy. I’m astonished you haven’t forsworn your title
and flown off to the wilds of India in search of some peace.
However,” she continued, pausing to stifle yet another yawn, “if
there are no more of our eccentric relations yet to climb out of
the woodwork tonight, I would appreciate being shown to my
bed.”
    At that moment Dunstan, the Benedicts’
long-standing (and long-suffering) butler, knocked and entered at
the Duke’s call. “The young lady’s chamber is ready, sir, and a
small repast already by the fire.” Dunstan then bowed and left the
room, Tansy in his wake.
    “Wait, Miss Tamerlane. If you are to remain
here there are some rules of common courtesy that must be adhered
to, even if my theatrically inclined aunt chose to ignore them in
order to enact a dramatic exit. I cannot countenance another such
as she without slipping my wits entirely.” Avanoll locked his hands
behind his back and paced importantly about the carpet, his
cousin’s eyes boring into the back of his jacket. “As it is never
too early or too late to learn, we shall now have lesson number
one. I am a Duke, but you are not a Duchess. You do not dismiss me
or leave a room I am inhabiting without first gaining my
permission. You beg my pardon to retire.”
    “Oh, bother,” his cousin groaned. “Wasn’t
once enough? All right,” she decided after swallowing down hard on
her rising temper, and dropped into a curtsy that would have been
tolerable had she not caught her hem in her jean boot,
necessitating the putting out of one hand to steady herself against
a footstool. She rose awkwardly and began in a monotone. “I am
mightily fatigued, your grace, and humbly beg your kind permission
to...”
    “Damme, Miss Tamerlane, don’t be impertinent
or...”
    “... retire to my bedchamber where I
shall...” she persisted, singsong.
    “Enough!”
    “... immediately ring for hot water in which
to soak my tired, aching feet. Standing on ceremony, I find, gives
me a royal pain!” she finished doggedly before allowing a
self-satisfied smirk—no amount of indulgence could term it a
smile—and quitting the room.
    The Duke sank into his chair, dumbfounded.
Did he still harbor enough vitality to rant and rave, or should he
take the coward’s route out and allow himself to be amused? He
decided on the latter. Between smiles and frowns he thought back
over the events since his acquaintance with his new cousin and
their bizarre conversations. He chuckled and unwittingly repeated a
few of her statements aloud. The chuckles grew into a halfhearted
laugh, and the laugh into a near fit of hilarity which he would
later attribute to his exhausted state.
    A housemaid passing by overheard Avanoll’s
laughter, peeked in to see her master the sole occupant of the
room, and scurried off to the kitchens to wonder aloud that it was
a rare treat to see his grace half-foxed and all silly-willy like
plain folks.
    Dunstan heard, sighed deeply, and ordered
another decanter of port for the drawing room, sure to find the one
he put there earlier sadly depleted, before coldly reminding the
housemaid it was not her place to make sport of her betters.
    The Duke’s valet, Farnley, who had sneaked
down to the kitchens in the hopes of begging some bonemeal for a
charm he was making to ward off warts, shrugged his shoulders and
offered a silent plea he would not be called upon to undress his
grace—a very huge man—in an unconscious state. Offering a further
entreaty skyward that his grace would not slop wine on his
waistcoat, he repaired to his master’s chambers to lay out