The Confessions of a Duchess Read Online Free PDF Page A

at a lady in that frank and boorish manner. Nor does he demonstrate such a strong reaction…” She stopped, making a vague flapping gesture with her hands toward his groin.
    Dexter could have put her right on that. No matter how much he fought it, no matter how much he wished to suppress his desires, he was obliged to admit that any man with a pulse would be staring when a figure straight from his most heated fantasies was standing before him. That same man would, as Laura herself had put it, develop a strong and well-nigh irresistible reaction to what he saw. From the confrontational tilt of her chin, however, he suspected that Laura would not take kindly to being corrected. She had started to shiver and looked both upset and defiant. Whilst he had no time for her false protestations of respectability—not with the things that he knew about her—he could see that this might not be the moment to discuss the matter.
    With one stride Dexter had reached her side and swung her up in his arms again. She went absolutely rigid as soon as he touched her.
    “Where are you staying?” he inquired.
    “I live at The Old Palace,” Laura said, “but there is absolutely no need for you to carry me home in this fashion. Unhand me at once, Mr. Anstruther. I insist!” She was at her most peremptory. Most people, Dexter was aware, would obey such a command from a dowager duchess. He ignored it and did not even break his stride as he marched purposefully across the water meadow toward the gate that led to The Old Palace.

    Laura’s hair was starting to dry now in honey-brown wisps about her face. She had had it cut since Dexter had first known her and the cluster of curls in the nape of her neck was extremely becoming. One of them brushed his cheek like a feather across his bare skin.
    Dexter felt the shiver down to his toes. It was so light a touch to have so profound an effect on him. But it seemed impossible not to be aware of every last inch of her. She smelled of fresh air and roses; the scent was in her hair and on her skin and it made him want to bury his face in the curve of her neck and to taste her. He wondered if she would taste the same as he remembered. He wondered if she would kiss the way he remembered. He imagined not. These days he was inclined to believe—or to hope for the sake of his peace of mind—
    that in his youthful infatuation he had imagined her to be so much more perfect than she really was. The dazzling, physical compatibility that he had thought existed between them would prove to be a product of his inexperience. A kiss was just a kiss. She would not be special and he would not lose his head over her again.
    But he would give a lot to know…
    As though sensing his feelings, Laura tried to hold herself away from him and put some distance between their bodies.
    “Do not be alarmed,” Dexter said. “You are perfectly safe. All I mean to do is convey you home. I have no intention of ravishing you. I do not even like you.” Laura arched her brows. “Indeed? Parts of you seem to like me well enough, Mr.
    Anstruther.”
    “True,” Dexter said. “They always did. But then not all of me is as discerning as my mind.”
    Laura gave a snort of disgust. “Then spare yourself further bodily inconvenience and permit me to walk home unaided. I do not need your help. Indeed, I had no notion that you were even visiting Fortune’s Folly.”
    “Nor I you.”
    “A pity,” Laura said acidly. “If only we had known we could each have chosen a different destination and spared ourselves the unpleasantness of having to meet.” Dexter ignored her comments again, kicking open the paddock gate with one booted foot and striding across the field toward the house. A little social discomfort was the least she owed him. Anger and contempt licked through his blood again. Laura had thrown him out of the house the very morning after their passionate night together. He had begged her to run away with him and she had told him