Kasey Michaels Read Online Free PDF

duke.
    It had been the endlessly enterprising Desiree who had hired the nearly stone-deaf and perfectly oblivious Mrs. Edith Farraday. She had proclaimed the woman to be Sophie’s legal guardian, then cast herself in the role of Sophie’s maid.
    And then, with all of this so neatly accomplished, she had proceeded just today to set them on the path that led to the front door of Uncle Cesse’s son. Sophie sneaked another peek at the ninth duke, the insufferably priggish man just now standing in front of the mantel, an untouched glass of Madeira in his hand. Did he think she had slipped a love potion into it, one meant to have him at her feet in an instant, her willing slave?
    Men were so silly. And so transparent. But lovable enough just the same. Rather like puppies, her mother had told Sophie; friendly, and eager to please, willing to play fetch and carry, even to roll over and do tricks to amuse you. Except that pug dogs, according to Desiree, didn’t lie to you to get what they wanted, use you, and then toss you over without a blink.
    And so this was how Sophie Winstead had grown to young womanhood, filled to the brim with her mother’s romantic notions, well schooled in what it took to woo and win a man, but also firmly grounded in her practical French friend’s caveats. And with a temper that kept her interesting.
    With her anger on simmer and her smile still firmly fixed, Sophie crossed to the table where she had set the birdcage—knowing the duke’s gaze was riveted to her every graceful, gliding step. She whipped the paisley shawl from the cage with a flourish, awakening the sleeping Ignatius.
    “Good afternoon, Ignatius,” she cooed, bending forward slightly, putting her face close to the cage. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant nap. Did you enjoy your trip in the coach, or was the ride too bumpy for you?”
    The bird lifted its yellow head from beneath one bright green wing and blinked. It then fanned out its blue, green, and scarlet tail feathers, swiveled its head about to quickly inspect its new surroundings, and protested in deep, guttural tones, “Demned coachie! Squawk! Quick! My flask! Secrets to tell! Squawk! Squawk! Demned coachie! Secrets to sell! Quick, my flask! Squawk! ”
    Sophie bit her tongue to keep from laughing, knowing the word coach was always followed by this particular answer from Ignatius. “Oh, naughty bird! Sophie’s very angry with you,” she exclaimed, wagging a finger at Ignatius so that his head bobbed and weaved, following her every movement.
    “Sophie loves you! Sophie loves you!” Ignatius shrilled in a higher voice, much like Sophie’s own, pushing his head against the bars until she reached in two fingers and stroked his feathery head. “Sophie loves you! Squawk! ”
    “No, no, no, Ignatius,” she corrected. “It’s Sophie loves me . Sweet, silly, literal bird!” She turned her back on the parrot and smiled sunnily at the duke. “You’ll have to excuse Ignatius, Your Grace. He is quite the mimic, and repeats nearly everything. Why, just now he sounded just like Uncle Tye, didn’t he—and then just like me. Isn’t that precious? He’s such a clever bird.”
    “Uncle Tye?” the ninth duke repeated, looking past her, at the birdcage.
    “Yes,” Sophie said, pleased but not surprised that he’d taken the bait she had so carefully offered. “Sir Tyler Shipley. Do you know him?”
    “Sir Tyler is your uncle ? Sir Tyler Shipley, of His Majesty’s government?”
    Sophie knew her smile wrinkled up her nose. Desiree had told her so. She’d also told her that such small, endearing quirks could cause many a man to tumble into malleable insensibility, if not into believing himself to be in love. “One and the same, although I haven’t seen him in ever so long. I doubt he’ll remember me now as the rather pudgy child I was then. But I shall remind him.”
    “One most sincerely hopes not,” the duke muttered, finally falling into the chair Sophie had