Disciplining the Duchess Read Online Free PDF

legends?”
    She sounded wistful, as if she hoped they had. “I suppose some of the events really happened,” he said, “while other parts were embellished or contrived. The magic parts, for instance.”
    “You don’t believe in magic, Your Grace?”
    “No,” he told her truthfully. “Do you?”
    She turned back to the painting. “I suppose not, although I wish I did. It is so pleasant a fantasy, that there is magic and mysticism all around us. But I haven’t found it to be so. I suppose I lean more toward belief in fate, and chance.”
    “Fate and chance?” Court raised a brow. “Are they not in opposition to one another?”
    She pondered this, a small wrinkle forming between her brows. “I think we all have fates to which we must submit ourselves,” she said. “But we can also grasp at chances when they come to us.”
    “And perhaps change our fates?”
    “We must try, mustn’t we?” She regarded him as if he held the answers, but in truth, he’d never given much thought to any of this. He had been born to a fate of course, that of the Duke of Courtland. She had been born the daughter of a lesser—and peculiar—viscount. Her fate, his fate.
    “You are very profound, Miss Barrett,” said Court. “I have never conversed with any lady quite the same as you.”
    He meant it as praise, but frustration flitted across her face. “People always say that. That I’m strange.”
    “I did not say you were strange,” he corrected her. “I said you were profound. Whenever I ponder magic, fate, and chance hereafter, I shall recall this fascinating conversation.”
    She tilted her head as if questioning whether he mocked her. He did not mock. In fact, he did not feel ready to return her to the greater company as he should. “Come, there is a striking painting in the ballroom. I believe you would appreciate it very much.”
    He drew her hand over his arm and she followed a little hesitantly. If odd Miss Barrett hesitated, Court should certainly know better. Why was he doing this? Perhaps because he’d had so little excitement in his life of late. As they walked at a leisurely pace around the corner and down another wide hallway, she did not prattle on as a typical young lady would, and he did not feel compelled to fill the silence. He enjoyed the novelty of strolling beside her lost in his thoughts…too many of which centered on her voluptuous attributes and that damned harem painting.
    When they arrived at the Darlington ballroom, there was little light with which to see the painting. He walked in anyway, turning in the expansive, tastefully decorated chamber. When it was lit for a grand ball, as it would be at the conclusion of the house party, a thousand candles would illuminate the space, but at the moment only a single lamp cast shadows for any guest or servant passing through.
    He turned to Miss Barrett, who waited by the door. “Are you afraid of the dark?”
    She shook her head. “No, Your Grace. I am afraid of ballrooms.”
    He laughed at her jest—or perhaps it wasn’t a jest—and beckoned her to join him. They would be here only a short time. Not that he believed Miss Barrett would try to entrap him in marriage, but her brother would in a heartbeat. He pushed that thought from his mind and crossed to pick up the lamp.
    “Come.” He led Miss Barrett to a large painting in the center of the far wall and held up the light so she might see it.
    She recognized the subject at once. “It is Caesar in the Roman Senate.”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s one of the few paintings I’ve seen of Caesar when he’s not being stabbed to death,” she said. “There is much more to his story than his assassination.”
    “I agree. I find Roman history interesting. What I know of it, anyway.”
    “Did you know there is an old Roman wall here?” She turned to him, eyes shining in the lamplight. “Well, not here, but north of here? It is very ancient. Thousands of years old.”
    “I did know. Have you been to