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

pale fist. Her presence was in fact so subdued he would not have been surprised to hear she was mute.
    Her friend, on the other hand—introduced as Lady Millicent Blenkenship—was a place a man could comfortably rest his eyes. A lush round girl. Lord Harry Osborne and an almost comically wary Ian Eversea were to come along on this walk, too, and Jacob Eversea, as host, was to lead the way.
    Moncrieffe was not one for walks that led nowhere in particular to places of minimal interest. He could have demurred. He possessed rank; the Everseas were polite. In all likelihood they would do anything he suggested, perhaps even launch into a rousing version of that everlasting pub song about Colin Eversea’s ignominious rescue from the gallows, though they might be a trifle sensitive about that for all he knew.
    But he had an objective, and so he assented, and they all mounted an expedition to see the Everseas’ folly.
    “Breathe that in, eh, Moncrieffe! Nothing like a hint of sea in the Sussex autumn air.” This was Jacob Eversea, heartily striding forward.
    Despite the fact that he . . . owned so much of the fresh air and open spaces of England, Moncrieffe spent most of his time in the coal-smut-thickened skies of London.
    Which could be why he was promptly wracked by a fit of coughing the moment he dutifully inhaled.
    He stopped. His concerned hosts ringed him. Through watering eyes he gained an impression of sympathetic watching eyes. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ian Eversea trying not to look hopeful about his impending demise.
    He put up one finger: Momentarily.
    “That’ll clear a man’s lungs, by God, won’t it, Moncrieffe.” Jacob Eversea was waiting patiently. “We’re not going to lose you, are we?”
    “By God,” Moncrieffe croaked, when he could speak again. “I’m well. Naught to be concerned about. ’Tis nothing a good snort of dirty London air wouldn’t cure.”
    Jacob Eversea snorted at that. “I’ve some cigars that come a close substitute. I’ll share them later as a cure once we’ve endured this trip. Five-card loo tonight, eh, Your Grace? And come Saturday . . . spread the word, lads!” he directed to Ian and Harry.
    Who smiled politely.
    “I would tolerate no other diversion at night,” the duke said somberly, and the elder Eversea laughed.
    For five-card loo was the game the duke was known for winning the most. And it was hardly considered a reputable game.
    “Do you need a walking staff?”
    What a quiet voice.
    The duke turned slowly, incredulously toward it, then looked down. This was Miss Genevieve Eversea asking. So very politely and solicitously . As though she expected him to tip over should his boot encounter a rut and they would have to rush to fetch a plow horse to tow him up out of it.
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Genevieve. The duke is in excellent health,” Eversea called back to her irritably as they trundled up the lane.
    Genevieve didn’t seem at all nonplussed by her father’s tone. She was doubtless used to him.
    He may as well begin charming her now.
    “He’s correct, Miss Eversea. But your concern is kind, indeed,” the duke said softly.
    “Harry! Do look at that funny squirrel! He’s so fat!”
    Lady Millicent was all but skipping up the lane, but she’d paused to point at a small round beast that glowered and made those gulping squirrel noises at them from on high. It flicked its tale irritably. “I should like to draw it!”
    “Plenty more squirrels where that one came from, Millicent,” Jacob said with infinitely dry patience.
    And so with Jacob’s pace, and Ian’s eagerness to keep his distance from Moncrieffe, and Millicent pointing out squirrels to Harry, Genevieve and the duke were in due time left behind. He wondered if she was doing it out of solicitousness, the way one might humor an invalid.
    She seemed to be comfortable saying absolutely nothing.
    They walked for a few moments down that lane lined with stripped trees. Leaves