The Duke Diaries Read Online Free PDF Page A

given his outrageous pursuit coupled with his famously handsome face and unparalleled good fortune.
    According to Verity’s last calculation, Rory Lennox, former Earl of Rutledge, and current Duke of Abshire, had fallen in lust twenty-six times the last three years since he returned from Wellington’s war machine, still churning ever onward without him.
    In Verity’s well-worn dictionary there were six lines describing a rake, beginning with libertine and ending with seducer . She would have advised the editors to save space by offering up her own definition: Rake, noun. Rory Lennox.
    M ost dukes are born into the title. Few earn it. Rory Lennox was of the latter group. But he was not proud of it—for good reason. But after last week’s debacle at Carleton House, he was through with any further attempts at escaping the hell of his own mind. And since he was giving free rein to horror, facing the ghosts lurking in that crook of Derbyshire from whence he spent his boyhood seemed like the next step on his trail to purgatory.
    Now he would be saddled with a wife, Lord help her —the one thing he’d sworn never to have—to whom he would have to feign concern for the rest of his life. He had no bloody use for a wife and absolutely no interest in overseeing her welfare until the end of his days and beyond.
    And his sodding titles? The earldom would go to a fine third cousin with a preponderance of male progeny at last review. The duchy would die with him. One Abshire was enough.
    Rory dismounted a considerable distance from the lady in question—a female he had occasionally seen at the numerous fashionable events in Town the last three seasons, but as he had steered clear of all Fitzroys, he had never spoken more than three sentences to Lady Verity Fitzroy since his return from war. He vaguely remembered he had nicknamed her Lady V during those days she followed without trepidation her brother, Sussex and him when she had been on the cusp of womanhood.
    There were only two reasons he was here: he always corrected his mistakes, and she was an innocent and the sister of the man he had once betrayed. If there was one trait Rory had learned too late, it was loyalty. His years on the march with Wellington had drummed it into his once untrustworthy soul.
    The mossy green carpet on the edge of the wood sank under his footsteps. The soft murmur of a stream nearby provided the backdrop for birdsong lilting from the dark canopy of trees as he approached. She was seated, and hastily closed a book in her lap.
    “Lady Fitzroy.” He bowed perfunctorily. “Delighted to find you here.”
    “Do be serious,” she replied, not meeting his eye.
    “Lady V”—he pasted his most serene expression on his face—“how fare you?”
    “The same as you, I presume, Your Grace. Mildly embarrassed, and wondering how long my brother will insist I endure my own company.” She indicated the wood-slatted bench in front of her and he seated himself.
    He had to laugh. Thank God she had not forsaken her youthful tendencies to make free with her sentiments. Her chin rose a notch and she finally allowed her brown eyes to wander to his. He noticed that flecks of amber sparked from the centers. The hint of a blush crested her cheeks, as her dark eyes challenged him. The Fitzroy strong features were in full evidence.
    “It won’t be for long,” he murmured. “Indeed, since I’m here, I’d say the incarceration is over. Look, I shall see to the vicar and—”
    “No.”
    “No?” He paused. “No to what?”
    “I will not give you the great honor of my hand. That is why you’re here, is it not?”
    He examined his fingernails. “Look, we can do this the hard way—”
    “Or the easy way?” she interrupted. “You could be a tad more original. Clichés disappoint me. And this is the very first time you’ve had to offer yourself on the altar of eternal wedded bliss, is it not? Not that it will be the last if you continue to be such a nodcock in