Say Yes to the Duke Read Online Free PDF Page B

older, rounder Lord Rowntree didn’t sound terribly
     interested as he flung out his tails and took his own seat on a red silk settee. He
     had silver sideburns and a strong cleft in his chin.
    “It is so.” Janice handed him a brimming cup, too.
    “Your older sister is very beautiful.” Lord Yarrow gazed at her with open curiosity,
     as if he hoped she’d react strongly.
    But he’d be disappointed. Janice was used to hearing such compliments about her sister,
     and contrary to what everyone assumed, she was quite proud to be related to Marcia.
    “Yes,” Janice said, “she’s the most beautiful woman in Town, apart from Mama. Of course”—she
     smiled—“I’m most prejudiced in their favor.”
    Janice felt a strong longing to retreat to her room and crawl into bed with a good
     book, not make small talk with these world-weary fellows who were the last men on
     earth she’d ever want to marry. They certainly didn’t stand out the way the duke did—
    Or Luke Callahan.
    Oh, dear. Him again. She added two lumps of sugar to distract herself. His Grace, she told herself sternly,
     was the man she should be thinking of. Yes, he was intimidating and indifferent to
     most of the rest of the world, but he acted as a duke should.
    Yet … that wasn’t nearly as memorable as a groom acting as a duke should.
    It was shocking and inappropriate, how Mr. Callahan behaved.
    But fascinating nonetheless.
    Janice restrained a sigh and looked over her own dish of tea to see Lord Rowntree
     cross one leg over the other, and the words Mr. Callahan’s thighs popped into her head. An instant rush of warmth to the apex of her own thighs ensued,
     followed by a strong dose of guilt that made her temples pound. She drank a sip of
     tea and wondered if she was a wanton or merely prone to outlandish daydreams.
    Mama would be appalled either way.
    Janice was grateful to hear more feminine laughter and the muted sounds of many feet
     on the stairs. The men paused in their conversation just as three women came into
     the room, all of them elegantly attired but looking rather hastily put together. Sleepy,
     even. It was quite a shock this late in the day.
    “Sorry we’re late,” said the first young woman in a strong American accent. “We stayed
     up past midnight … reading novels.” Dressed in a plum muslin gown and with a mess
     of black curls framing her dainty face, she gave a giant yawn and plopped down next
     to Lord Rowntree. “I’m Lilith Branson of Boston,” she said, and extended a hand to
     Janice.
    For the briefest moment, Janice stared at it, not quite sure what to do. So she put
     down her cup and held her hand out, too. Miss Branson gripped her palm and shook it
     hard. “Nice to meet you.”
    “And you.” Janice was excited to meet someone new. It was a rare thing to see an American
     socialite, especially one as bold and friendly as Miss Branson. “I’m Lady Janice Sherwood.
     My father is the Marquess of Brady.”
    “I’ve heard much of your sister Lady Chadwick,” said another young lady in a rather
     dated yellow silk gown. She had brown hair and bright green eyes. “I’m Lady Opal,
     and this is my sister, Lady Rose.”
    “Pleased to meet you both.” Janice smiled, happy they had each other. She knew the
     value of sisters and suddenly missed her own.
    Rose was freckle faced, with strawberry blonde hair, and wore a soft blue gown that
     Janice could swear had nearly threadbare sleeves, although she wouldn’t gaze upon
     them long enough to find out.
    Despite the sad state of their gowns, the sisters, with their wide-set eyes, were
     equally pretty. Neither outshone the other. And Miss Branson was attractive, too.
     She had dimples on either side of her heart-shaped mouth and a pert nose.
    Janice poured them each a cup of tea. “Were you invited here by the dowager, as well?”
     she asked with sympathy. Perhaps they’d been caught in an awkward situation, too.
     It would explain their lack of