Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion Read Online Free PDF

spot, his gaze locked upon the young woman as understanding came crashing in on him. He knew now why the interlude in Chesney’s shop had bothered him so much.
    This young woman with the most arresting silver blue eyes was the lad he had seen through the shop window.
    ***
    “Chesney.”
    Crista watched the duke stride across the room, hand outstretched. His uncle shook it and offered the duke a deferential bow.
    “Your grace. May I present my niece, Miss Cristobel Brooke.”
    “Miss Brooke.”
    Crista curtsied to the duke. He took her hand and raised her from that curtsey, smiling so infectiously that Crista couldn’t help smiling also.
    “It is both a surprise and a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Brooke,” he said. “I was unaware Chesney had a niece. Where have you been hiding her, Chesney?”
    “Crista came to live with me a short time ago, your grace.”
    Lord Amos stepped forward, shook her uncle’s hand and turned to her. Once again she curtsied, but this time she also blushed. Lord Amos’s gaze was so intense, so penetrating, it was as though he could see inside her head and read her thoughts. When he took her hand the most peculiar thing happened. A deeply disturbing jolt rocked her body, turbulent heat fogged her brain. She sought for her dignity and self-control, which had chosen a most inconvenient time to desert her, and found herself wallowing in a tangle of chaotic emotions. She fought her deepening blush when, with a knowing smile that implied he was accustomed to making females’ senses reel with his imposing presence, Lord Amos released her hand.
    “A pleasure, Miss Brooke,” he said, inclining his head. “What happened to your assistant, Chesney?”
    “He is indisposed, my lord.”
    Crista was sure Lord Amos muttered something along the lines of his hoping it was nothing trivial, causing her mind to warm to him in harmony with her already overheated body. He spoke in an undertone, and she couldn’t be entirely sure she had heard him a’right. Even so, it pleased her to suppose they were in agreement on the subject of Reece.
    “How unfortunate,” the duke said.
    “I took the liberty of bringing Crista with me today because she has a happy knack for design,” Chesney said. “She has drawn up a few proposals for your perusal, and we hardly need Reece with us for that purpose.”
    “Quite so. Pray, take a seat, Miss Brooke, and I will ring for refreshment,” Lord Amos said.
    Crista had been warned by her uncle to expect great civility from the duke and his brothers, but their willingness to entertain them to tea took her by surprise. She seated herself on what had to be a Chippendale sofa. She recognised the striking characteristics peculiar to that great craftsman−the gracefully shaped back, uninterrupted seat cushion covered in deep cream fabric, and traditionally beaded legs. Crista, who appreciated beauty and skilled workmanship, had never imagined she would ever sit upon such a fine piece of furniture and was terrified she might slop her tea over the priceless fabric.
    She glanced around the magnificent, tastefully appointed room, taking in some new aspect to delight her each time she turned her head. The mantelpiece appeared to be of black marble, upon which rested just a few very tasteful, and doubtless rare and expensive, ornaments. An ornate chandelier, probably of bronze and gold and elaborately ornamented, made her yearn to examine the workmanship more closely. The walls were dominated by four large pictures, probably painted by a famous artist, but she was unable to think whom. The decoration leaned heavily towards a Moorish influence, as evidenced by the ceiling, which caught her attention and elicited a gasp of delight.
    “I see you are admiring our ceiling, Miss Brooke,” Lord Amos said.
    “Yes, indeed. I have never seen anything to compare to it.”
    “I am very glad you approve. I believe the inspiration came from Turkish palaces.”
    “Ah yes, that would