His Secret Heroine Read Online Free PDF Page B

somewhere, Reginald?"
    "I meant to, Your Grace." A quick glance at the Cheval glass showed his cravat was lopsided, and he turned to Puckett, who silently tucked his fingers through the creases.
    "It can wait." The duke strode straight to Reggie's desk, picked up the quill, and turned it over in his hand. "Letters?"
    Reggie forced himself to breathe. "Correspondence, sir."
    "Not that damnable poetry again."
    "No, sir. Not in quite some time."
    "Well, there's that. You have been inattentive to your cousin, Reginald."
    Reggie wanted to groan, but stifled it. "Yes, sir."
    "She has complained to me. No doubt you have been playing with that bedamned ship."
    " Boat, sir. A ketch is a boat. Not full-rigged, only two masts—"
    With a wave of his hand, the duke dismissed Reggie's objection. He picked up the half of lemon and sniffed it. "What is this obsession you have with lemons, Reginald?"
    "Freshens the air, sir. And I am fond of the flavor."
    The Duke's nostrils wrinkled. "Reginald, I do not care how much you sail the bedamned boat once you have married. But until then you will pay court to your cousin Portia. Have I not made myself clear about this?"
    "You have, sir," Reggie replied through barred teeth.
    "A married man need not be concerned with his wife's sensibilities. A single man, however — But there is no need for that discussion. We have had it before."
    "Indeed, sir." Numerous times. Reggie also had his father's perfect example on that subject.
    The duke ran a gloved finger over a marquetry table and inspected the imaginary mark it left in dust that wasn't there. His nostrils flared the tiniest bit. "I cannot conceive why you wish to live like this. Featherstone could be yours, and the trust as well."
    It already was, and they both knew it. Reggie's inheritance from his grandfather should have come to him on his twenty-fifth birthday, four months past. But the duke had called upon a technicality in the will, claiming Reggie to be too immature to manage his affairs, and Reggie would be hard put to dislodge the duke's hold over the trustee.
    "It's time you come up to scratch, Reginald. I'll not brook any more delays. Do you understand me?"
    Reggie nodded, knowing that would not satisfy his father, who continued his fixed stare from steel blue eyes, waiting to hear the actual words. Reggie gave in. "I do, sir."
    Just the slightest folding of the man's lips acknowledged the response, but Reggie knew how to read it.
    "You will call upon your cousin and make your addresses. I had not wished to say this, but if you do not, you will receive nothing on quarter day. You do understand me."
    Reggie returned the icy glare with his face carefully schooled. "Yes sir." He had not said he would comply, but knew his father's great conceit equated understanding with obedience.
    His father's visits were something to be endured. Hostility might merely crackle in the air, but the slightest hint of rebellion would bring the duke's wrath descending with the vindictiveness of Olympic gods. Reggie followed his father from room to room, tolerating the criticism which trod the thin line between fact and insult, because he knew the inevitable next step.
    After precisely fifteen minutes, the duke stood at the door. Puckett deposited the rolled rim beaver hat in the duke's hand. Without so much as a curt nod, the duke pivoted, and if Puckett had not had sufficient familiarity with the duke 's habits to anticipate him with an open door, the duke would have walked right into it.
    The moment the door closed behind his father, Reggie and Puckett let out deep sighs together.
    "That was a close one, sir," said Puckett.
    Reggie nodded at the obvious. He could manage fifteen minutes, for it was always precisely that, but he could never tolerate living in his father's household again. If he married Portia, it would be all of the same, for Portia would be completely biddable, not to her husband, but to the duke. And Reggie would never write another