The Art of Duke Hunting Read Online Free PDF

accepted it. They walked toward the gangplank now that the rest of the passengers had debarked.
    “I’m embarrassed to ask,” he continued, “but had we been introduced before last night?”
    She smiled. “I shall give you an awkward moment. Yes. We were introduced years ago at Lord Bartholomew’s ball.”
    He exhaled. “Yes, I thought I recognized you.”
    “And then we met again at Miss Chapman’s soiree a twelvemonth ago when you escorted your sister.”
    “Of course,” he said with a hint of uncertainty. “I remember the event very well.”
    “And then again, there was the Hastings’ house party three months ago. During the fortnight, we were occasionally seated near each other at table.”
    “It was a very large party as I remember,” he defended, the space between his brows bunching in two worry lines.
    “Yes, eight is a very large party.” She assumed the owlish expression on her face that her family had always deplored.
    His eyes widened. “I say, there were at least three doz— . . . You’re doing it again,” he said, a smile breaking through finally.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Mocking me. I distinctly remember there were nearly more people than chambers, and I escaped two days after delivering my mother and sister.”
    “Yes,” she continued. “Very easy to get lost in that sort of a crowd.”
    He would not continue the banter—or defend himself. He was staring at her as if she had a spot on her nose.
    “Ummmm, why are you staring at me?”
    “I’ve just realized that the only way to win at your game is to stop playing.” He broke into another wide smile.
    “Stop doing that,” she retorted.
    “I beg your—”
    “No you don’t. You don’t beg anything of anyone.”
    “I’m begging you now.” He scratched his jaw. “Everyone else has debarked, and I think you know how I feel about being on this floating wreck.” He offered his arm again.
    There was something entirely unnerving about this man. His magnetic appeal made her feel like a thousand eyes were peering at her. She refused to be drawn in. Like last night. It was far too dangerous a game for someone like her.
    Esme March, the Countess of Derby, turned on her heel and marched toward the gangway. She heard his voice float toward her back.
    “No worries. I shall have your trunks taken to the inn.”
    R oman Montagu glanced at his pocket watch, which he had set on the simple bureau in the best room of the Horse & Hound Inn. He glanced out the window. There was not a single horse or hound to be seen. And for the first time ever, he could not rein in the thoughts in his usually ordered mind.
    That overly tall countess really was a most unusual female. Her face was undeniably feminine and aristocratic but not at all in the fashion of the fresh-faced milk-and-water misses decorating the ballrooms of London. Her brow showed intellect, and he thought he had made out tiny indentations near the bridge of her nose, which indicated reading spectacles. Her nose was aquiline and a bit long. Her teeth were even but her smile was uneven and charming when she chose to show it. But there were two things she possessed that trumped all. And he would wager his last farthing that he was one of only two people to have had a glimpse.
    Her long, long legs . . . her calves . . . her thighs . . . and most likely even her feet were beautiful. Dear God, just the thought of the combination made his heart stutter.
    And then there was the matter of her touch. Her fingers had felt like the finest velvet as they had traced his skin. He’d never experienced anything like it.
    Roman shook his head in disbelief. Now was not the time to think about the amazing happenings last night. Indeed, he found it difficult to even believe such intimacy had occurred, or even existed on this temporal plane.
    Well, then.
    He forced his mind onto a new path. The captain had made good on his promise and had secured rooms at the inn on the west side of the small