Between the Duke and the Deep Blue Sea Read Online Free PDF Page B

into the still warm saddle. In one swoop, he handed up Eddie, who was panting, and then he took up the reins and led the horse forward.
    She heard him mutter something in French about women, and relatives, and dogs. Then again, her knowledge of the Gallic language was so poor he could have been talking about puddles and the way his stallion stomped on his foot in an effort to avoid the muddy dip just then.
    “Hmmm. I’d wager it has to do with money,” he said after a moment.
    “Do you want the ring or not?”
    He glanced behind him and then after a pause, grasped it. “All right. I might just put it to good use later.”
    “Later?”
    “To scare off those mothers and daughters expecting a clutch of jewels worn by Marie Antoinette,” he said, laughing. His bronzed skin set off his white teeth and dazzling smile to perfection.
    “I promise I will truly repay you for helping me,” she reiterated, trying not to stare at his startling dimples. He was a Frenchified snake charmer in London fashions, this one was.
    “Yes, well, I shall charge quite a bit for your care and feeding. With interest. I’m more than a little dipped in funds right now.”
    “And I shall pay it.”
    “I shall not ask how.”
    “So that means you’ll agree to hide me on St. Michael’s Mount for as long as I choose?”
    He shook his head. “I must be losing my mind.”
    T here was just something about her that made him agree to her ridiculous request. Then again, he was so mired in muck at this point, it was hard to see how one squawking firebrand of femininity in the middle of nowhere could make his life more complicated than it already was.
    He was a good assessor of humanity. And she was either one of the best liars he’d ever encountered, or everything she said was true. The only thing that was off was her accent. She didn’t sound like a countess, or at least any countess he knew. And he knew quite a few. French, English, Russian, they all sounded very much the same—and it wasn’t at all like this tall, thin, scrappy woman who didn’t wither at his blunt assessments. The countesses he knew spoke of the minute vagaries of the weather, the fashions of the moment, entertainments, and gossip. Mostly the latter. And in the bedroom, their words were all the same too: “more” and “again.”
    “So tell me a bit about this Paxton fellow,” he said. “How long have you been married?”
    “Eight years.”
    “How did it come about?”
    “Oh, I knew of him most of my life. I’ve always lived here, or north of here, near Redruth.” She paused. “But Lawrence didn’t know me until eight and a quarter years ago.”
    “I see.” He didn’t at all, but knew better than to risk a question at that moment.
    “My father was the richest copper and tin miner in the south of England, Your Grace.”
    “You can stop that. I’ve had nothing but bad luck since assuming the title—and I think we can dispense with the formalities, considering.”
    “Well, after an extraordinary string of bad financial luck over the years, Lawrence called on my father and asked for my hand along with a large dowry.”
    “So your father chose the old-fashioned method of disposing of females and sold you.”
    “No, he did not sell me,” she enunciated each word sourly. “He knew that I was just like every stupid girl in all of Creation—dreaming of a fairy tale prince or earl who would fall head over ears in love with me and drag me off to his castle. And Lawrence was the most desirable gentleman in Cornwall.”
    “Except for that tiny propensity of his to murder a wife,” Alex said in a dry tone.
    “And I was in love with him.” She stopped. “Or at least I thought I was.” She paused. “It wasn’t until later . . . Until he forbade me to associate with all the people I had known before our marriage that the romantic façade dropped away. Toward the end, I wasn’t even allowed to see my father, except on Christmas and . . . Oh, this is truly