This Duchess of Mine by Eloisa James Read Free Book Online Page B

little one tucked here or there.”
    Jemma looked in the glass and felt, not for the first time in her life, a bone-deep gratitude for her beauty. As an intelligent person, she had never allowed herself to fall into the trap of thinking that beauty made her a person of greater worth.
    But if one had to face appallingly frightening—and yet exciting—events, it helped to be beautiful. It gave one backbone. Her hair fell in lazy honey-coloredwaves down her back, and the little roses gave her the look of a wanton matron prancing off to some sort of pagan holiday. The kind that involved spring woods and satyrs, Jemma thought, seeing the pink high in her cheeks.
    â€œQuite nice,” Brigitte said, coming forward again.
    â€œA patch, perhaps? Just one?”
    â€œI am preparing for bed, not a ball,” Jemma protested.
    But Brigitte wasn’t listening. “Just there,” she murmured, pressing a small velvet patch just above the corner of Jemma’s mouth. “The bisous —the kissing patch. And a touch of lip color.”
    Jemma reached for her favorite pot of color, but Brigitte presented her with another. “More rose than crimson this evening, Your Grace.”
    It truly was a strange life, one in which her maids dictated the color of her lips and the flowers in her hair. She turned and gave them a huge smile. There was no need to speak, after all. They were servants and friends, and in their eyes she read the hope that her evening would be a pleasurable one.
    â€œI suppose,” she said, “that I should join His Grace before our meal cools. You may all retire for the night.”
    They curtsied and left, unspoken encouragement floating in the air behind them.
    Jemma took a deep breath. Now it came down to herself and Elijah. Their marriage had been an embittering, desolate thing so far. But it had changed—and they had changed. The night could be one of joy.
    And tenderness. She had learned in their years apart that while pleasure was desirable, tenderness was far more rare, and far more valuable.
    She straightened her shoulders and opened the door to her bedchamber.
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    Elijah came awake all of a sudden. He always did. The slide into unconsciousness was like drifting into darkness. Generally when he woke after one of these spells, it was to find himself staring into the frightened face of someone who thought he was dead. That was a bracing sensation.
    Then he would find his heart beating wildly in his chest, trying, one had to assume, to catch its rhythm again, keep itself going.
    When he had fainted in front of the House of Lords, he had woken to find a shocked Lord Cumberland shaking him. The Duke of Villiers had actually slapped him on finding him in the library. Once he awoke in an armchair to find Fowle shouting in his ear. The butler had backed away, dull red rising in his cheeks.
    But this was the worst.
    Jemma’s face was utterly drained of color. Her fingers, wrapped around his wrists, were trembling.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” he said, after a moment.
    â€œOh my God.” Her voice wobbled like a child’s.
    â€œPlease, tell me this is a bad dream.”
    He managed a smile.
    â€œIt’s your heart,” she said. “Your heart…your heart is faltering, just as your father’s did.”
    â€œI’m not dead, Jemma. I’m almost accustomed to these spells now. I could live for years like this, fainting occasionally.”
    He lifted his hands, and her fingers fell from his wrists. She was kneeling by his chair, just where she must have thrown herself. Elijah put a hand on her hair and a small rose tumbled into his lap. Like theroses one throws into the grave at funerals, he thought with a wrenching twist of self-pity.
    She still hadn’t moved. “Oh God, Elijah, this can’t be happening.”
    â€œI didn’t know how to tell you.” Her hair was warm, thick and springy against his fingers.
    â€œHow long