Just One Touch Read Online Free PDF Page A

Her touch lingered for half an instant longer than necessary, just enough to make his heart stumble, and then Rogan turned to afford the chaperoning Mrs. Raines the same courtesy he had shown Caroline.
    Watching the interplay from the doorway, Belvingham could barely believe his eyes. For the first time in five years, Caroline hadn’t flinched away from a man. His throat clogged with emotion.
    He noted the manner in which she smiled at Hunt before she turned away, at the protective way he leaned toward her, his expression for oneinstant betraying a longing that Belvingham was certain he didn’t want anyone to see.
    And just like that, the solution to his problem came to him, and the duke smiled at the newcomers in genuine welcome.

Chapter 3
    W hen the sun rose the next morn, Rogan was up to his ankles in manure. Dressed in a shirt and his oldest trousers, he worked in the stables beside the two ex-soldiers, Grafton and Tallow, as they mucked out the stalls and mixed the feed.
    The day had begun just like every other day, as if the events of last night had not happened.
    But last night had happened. He could still smell the scent of Caroline’s perfume, still feel the touch of her hand on his. Her father had been effusive in his gratitude, and Mrs. Raines had taken the role of chaperone most seriously, sweeping Caroline away into the care of her devoted servants, as if afraid Rogan might devour her charge.
    She wasn’t far off the mark.
    He knew his reputation. His years as a hell-raising scoundrel still followed him, even after all this time. People still whispered about what had happened right before he’d been given his commission. And they talked about what had happened since. About Isabel. About his imprisonment on the Continent. The stories had made their way to England, adding chapters to his roguish history.
    He hadn’t taken it amiss when Mrs. Raines had insisted on chaperoning Caroline. Even he knew he was not the sort of man to be left alone with an innocent lady, and the more distance between them, the better. Once Caroline had retired to the bowels of the house, he had accepted Belvingham’s thanks and then taken his leave, uncomfortable with the social niceties.
    He had no business shaking a duke’s hand or dreaming of a nobleman’s pretty daughter. He looked around the stables, the way the sun shone through the chinks in the walls. He could smell manure and horses and the sweet scent of fresh straw.
    This was where he belonged, sweating amid the sounds of shuffling horses.
    A black stallion whinnied and stuck his head out over the door to nudge at Rogan’s shoulder. “Easy, Hephaestus,” he said with a chuckle, scratching the velvety black nose stretched toward him. “Your turn is coming, though I’m certain you just want to get out in the sunshine to see those pretty ladies.”
    The horse nudged his arm again, and Rogan stroked a hand down the satiny neck. Hephaestus was the only horse in the stable that truly belonged to him, a randy stud of sixteen hands that had cost him a good chunk of his modest inheritance. The rest of the animals were temporary residents, sent to him for training. The fees he charged helped run his small farm, as well as pay a small wage to the two placeless soldiers who had come to him seeking employment.
    His mouth tightened. During the war, he had made an open offer of employment to any soldier in his company who might find himself unemployed when he returned home to England. At the time he had expected to be able to provide decent jobs to these good men at the lucrative Hunt stables. He had never imagined that he would be scraping a living out of his late aunt’s estate, trying to recreate a dream that might well be lost to him.
    For generations, the Hunt family had been known across England as the best horse breeders in the country. The Hunt line had been legendary, up until Rogan had returned from the Peninsula to find every last steed gone, sold by his father and