What I Did For a Duke by Julie Anne Long Read Free Book Online

another sin. How did one feign a swoon? She placed the back of her hand on her forehead. Swoons seemed to begin that way. She fumbled for the arm of the settee with her other hand, and sank slowly into it.
    She was petite, but she had the constitution of a plow horse. She’d never fainted in her life.
    Her mother narrowed her eyes, eyes so very similar to her own. She missed almost nothing, Mama, but she was immovable.
    “I’ll own you are not yourself, Genevieve, but I’m inclined to blame whatever it is you did or didn’t eat for breakfast. You are fit enough to walk with a duke, and you are always lovely, even when pale.”
    “But Mama—I do have a terrible—” What part of her ought to ache cripplingly enough to excuse her from the walk but not require a frantic messenger sent to fetch the doctor? She could hardly say soul . “—headache.”
    “Unless you can demonstrate to me that you’re missing a limb necessary for performing a stroll , you will go, Genevieve. You will be kind to the man, as he may have suffered a loss and perhaps be . . . consolable. Inclined to remedy his loss.”
    “But Mama, he’s . . . I can’t . . . but he . . .”
    “. . . is a man who can keep you in the manner to which you’ve become accustomed and do honor to this family. I know you are a bit. . . . well, a bit shy . . . my dear . . . but this will do you good.”
    Her mother gave her back an implacable I-know-what’s-good-for-you-better-than-you-do gaze.
    It was disorienting. How was it that she hadn’t noticed this before? Nobody knew. Nobody knew what was best for her and what she wanted. And why did anyone believe she was shy? She wasn’t the least shy. Quiet was not synonymous with shy .
    She must have looked stricken, for her mother sighed.
    “For heaven’s sake, my love, we aren’t speaking of indenturing you to the man. It’s one walk. It needn’t dictate the course of forever and I’m not one of those mamas who orchestrate their children’s lives, though I’m of a mind to change. After all, every woman needs an avocation,” she added darkly.
    “Where is Olivia?” Genevieve tried mulishly.
    Olivia was slippery, that’s what Olivia was. She might very well be hiding behind a flower arrangement and snickering at Genevieve.
    Out of the corner of her eye she could see yet another one being brought through the door. Mrs. Mullin, the housekeeper, stood scratching her head in the foyer, clearly wondering where to direct the footmen.
    Her father and Ian and the duke had vanished from the foyer. To look at horses or some such, no doubt.
    Isolde sighed. “My dear, please just . . .”
    And then Genevieve watched in horror as her mother actually . . .
    . . . wrung her hands .
    This was a dirty trick, indeed. Not for the first time, or even the thousandth, Genevieve wished that she had her sister’s fortitude. For despite her battered emotional condition she of course took pity on her mother, who worried so over all of them, had stalwartly and with humor survived sending sons off to war and to the gallows, and had truly despaired that Olivia would ever be married.
    For her mother’s sake, she would go on the walk.
    She hadn’t any conversation or charm or any of herself to spare. But she would go and walk alongside the duke.
    When her mother saw her softening she placed a hand on her knee and offered a concession.
    “My dear, you’re certain to enjoy yourself. After all, Harry and Millicent will go along, too.”

Chapter 4
    M oncrieffe’s first look at the girl he meant to seduce and abandon was hardly promising, though this in itself suggested his task might be easier than he’d dreamed. She was petite and colorless and lightless. Her complexion was fair and unblemished, but it was difficult to know her age, for the bloom was most certainly off of her. Her walking dress was white muslin striped in gray, and she’d thrown a shawl around it, and was clutching it defensively in one