Disciplining the Duchess Read Online Free PDF Page A

gloved hand, trying to communicate her safety in his care. They left the brightly lit drawing room and entered the wide hallway. It was darker there, but adequately illuminated with lamps. The flickering light reflected off her disarranged hair. His fingers ached to set a couple of errant curls to rights, but it was not something a gentleman would do with any lady other than his wife or mistress.
    “Here, Miss Barrett,” he said, stopping at the first one. “A portrait depicting St. Joan of Arc.”
    She regarded the painting critically. “It is not how I would imagine her.”
    “Oh?” He had viewed this rendition of Jeanne d’Arc before and found her stark, severe expression moving. “She was not like an English lady,” he explained. “She would not have a silk gown and her hair done up in curls. She lived long ago in France.”
    “It’s not that I think she should look like the ladies back in the drawing room,” sniffed Miss Barrett. “I am not an idiot.”
    Court felt laughter bubble up in his throat. He grunted to disguise it, rocking back on his heels. “I did not mean to insinuate—”
    “I think the artist made her too pretty.” She stepped closer, her arms at her sides, still staring at the painting. “Joan of Arc was a fierce warrior. I often wonder how she did it.”
    “Did what?”
    “Convinced all those men to follow her, to fight and give their lives under her command. She commanded armies of men,” she said, turning to him. “I wonder how.”
    A thought lodged in his brain at that moment: it was most certainly a blessing Miss Barrett did not know how.
    As it turned out, her knowledge of Joan of Arc put his to shame. She told him all she knew of the woman’s birth, childhood, political machinations, and eventual burning at the stake, while he occasionally contributed a polite “Imagine that,” or “Fascinating.” At last Miss Barrett lost interest and he led her to the next painting.
    The work depicted a Persian prince surrounded by a harem of voluptuous slaves. Nude voluptuous slaves. The women sprawled on cushions and caressed one another while the prince surveyed them all, master of his domain. Court enjoyed the painting’s sensual overtones, but in the company of Miss Barrett it created an awkward situation, not least because his lewd mind found her robust figure not unlike those of the prince’s lush concubines, and Court momentarily pictured her there among them.
    “What do you think of this work, Miss Barrett?” He cleared his throat as she studied it, adding, “It is composed in an appealing baroque style.”
    She considered it for a long moment. “Yes.” Tentatively. Then, “Yes, it is very moving,” with an ardent nod of her head. “I should very much like to lie around all day on pillows like those women. Although it might grow tedious after a week or two.”
    Court stifled a smile. “Tedious indeed,” he said. “You prefer to stay busy?”
    “I do prefer it. Although idleness can be pleasant enough in the right circumstances. And with the right company,” she added, pointing out two embracing women. “They appear to be particular friends.”
    Court’s lips twitched. “Shall we move on?”
    They lingered next over a series of expertly crafted landscapes, which did not seem to interest Miss Barrett very much. Then they came to the large canvas at the end of the hall, a rendering of Camelot, King Arthur, Lancelot and his knights. She made an ecstatic sound.
    “Do you enjoy the Arthurian legends?” he asked.
    “I love them. I’ve read all the books I could find about King Arthur and Guinevere and the druids and priestesses and all those myths and legends.” Her excitement delighted him, although no gently-reared lady would ever admit to being so well read. She studied the detailed painting while he stood silent, reluctant to interrupt her thoughts. Finally she turned back to him. “Do you think they really happened? The things that are written in those