To Marry The Duke by Julianne MacLean Read Free Book Online

was a little bit of both—though he had never found uniqueness to be a desirable quality in a woman before. Quite the opposite, in fact.
    He then considered getting back in his carriage and driving away. Something in him wanted to, but whatever it was, he rejected it. He decided to let this venture play out and see where it led, which would probably be nowhere. He would sit through dull talk about the weather, perhaps some gossip about the ball the night before, but nothing more consequential than that. With that supposition, he walked to the door and knocked.
    A few minutes later, he was shown upstairs to the drawing room. The butler announced him, and James moved through the door. His gaze was drawn at once to Miss Wilson seated across the room, a teacup and saucer held in her delicate hands. She wore an ivory, tulle tea gown that complimented her complexion and gave her a look of sweetness—like some whipped cream confection. At the sight of her, he felt a ravenous, predatory rush.
    It was the challenge of her, he supposed. She had disliked him on first impression.
    There was a brief moment of stunned silence from the other women in the room—the countess and Miss Wilson’s mother—then a sudden frazzled flurry of greetings. James moved all the way into the room, but stopped when he saw the dark image of another man to his left, seated by the fireplace. He glanced over to see Whitby.
    “Whitby, good to see you,” he said, keeping a calm, cool tone while he shifted his walking stick from one hand to the other.
    The earl rose from his chair. “Likewise.”
    An awkward silence ensued, until Whitby finally gave in to the rules of etiquette and leaned to pick up his hat and stick. It was appropriate that he, having already had a chance to pay his call, should politely bid his hostess
adieu
.
    He bowed to the ladies. “I thank you for your society this afternoon, Lady Lansdowne. It was most pleasant. Mrs. Wilson, Miss Wilson? Enjoy your day.”
    He gave his card to the countess, then brushed by James on the way out. “Wentworth,” he said, in a cool, hushed tone.
    James swallowed the bitter taste of Whitby now considering him a competitor in the Marriage Mart. Bloody hell, it would probably be in the
Post
tomorrow.
    “Won’t you come in, Your Grace?” Lady Lansdowne said.
    James nodded, trying to forget about Whitby and focus on Miss Wilson, but that wasn’t so easy either, considering his own past with the countess. He’d never imagined he would ever call on Lady Lansdowne, not after the awkward circumstances that transpired three years earlier when she’d arrived in London for her first Season and had directed her ambitions toward him. Thank the Lord, the Earl of Lansdowne had proposed and prevented James from openly humiliating her.
    “Please, make yourself comfortable,” she said. Perhaps she did not even remember it.
    Purposefully steering clear of the chair next to the countess, James took a seat beside Mrs. Wilson. A
parlor maid poured him a cup of tea.
    “It’s a beautiful day, is it not, Your Grace?” Lady Lansdowne said. “I don’t recall the month of May ever being so full of sunshine.”
    Ah, the predictable talk of weather.
    “It is indeed a pleasant change from the wet spring we had in March,” he replied.
    “Is it usually this warm?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
    The clock ticked on while they continued to make small talk about nothing of any relevance, and at the end of the obligatory fifteen minutes, James wondered why he had even bothered to come at all. Miss Wilson had not said one word.
    While her mother went on about the Season in New York, James took the opportunity to study the quiet young woman across from him, sipping tea and contributing nothing to the conversation. Where was her fire from the night before?
    “So you see,” Mrs. Wilson continued, “it’s quite the opposite in America. People tend to leave New York in the summer when it’s warm, and retreat to their summer homes,