The Irish Duchess Read Online Free PDF Page A

He was here now, and he was leaving in two days’ time. And the imp from hell and her brother were going with him.
    For Blanche’s sake, Neville would take Fiona to London in a sack if necessary.

Three
    Halting on the castle’s stone staircase the next morning, Fiona gritted her teeth and studied her nemesis.
    The duke loomed in her path, blocking her way to the medieval front doors. Tinted light from the recently restored leaded glass windows splintered his arrogant features into shards of color and shadow. Dukes didn’t even look like normal people, she mused. His hair wasn’t brown, but golden brown; his eyes not gray, but silver. Even his odious quizzing glass glittered like a large diamond. Compared to the men she knew in their bulky woolens, hands callused with hard work, the duke appeared a polished gemstone, all sparkle and fire. She had never quite thought of the studious duke as a man of physical power, but he mirrored the morning light like a knight in sturdy armor.
    Fiona feared he would not take opposition lightly.
    “You cannot leave here looking like that,” were the first words out of his mouth.
    “If I left looking like anything else, people would not recognize me,” she replied, testing the duke’s measure. She wished she’d never come across him last night. Perhaps he’d still be wandering the dirt roads or found his way back to Dublin.
    She stepped deeper into the shadows of the massive stairway. Like many of her forebears, she knew how to get around insurmountable objects.
    “We leave on the morrow. Shouldn’t you be packing your trunks?” Neville advanced across the foyer, his gaze never once leaving the place where she stood.
    Fiona had never recognized authority and didn’t accept it now. With a look of disdain, she observed his polished boots and blindingly white linen. “You may have use of all the trunks you need. I’m not one for wearing frills and furbelows.”
    “Fiona!” her uncle bellowed from above. “Is that you I hear? Mary’s after scouring the halls for you. Get yourself back here now!”
    The fiendish smile on the duke’s angular face did little toward appeasing her temper. “Coming, Uncle,” she called sweetly. With a swirl of her long braid, Fiona turned and dashed back up the stairs.
    Her Uncle William seldom left the library long enough to actually track her down, giving her years of experience at avoiding his careless supervision. Slipping through the shadows of the formal dining hall, Fiona ran out the servants’ door in the rear. Practically skipping with pleasure at deceiving those who would deny her her freedom, she dashed down the narrow back stairs.
    She had things of importance to do this day. She didn’t need the interference of her well-meaning family. The earl and his wife had her best interests at heart, she knew, but sending the haughty duke after her was a fatal mistake. She wouldn’t travel one footstep in his company.
    It had been two years since she’d seen the duke, but the memory of their one personal encounter still burned through her in every shade of embarrassment known to mankind. She remembered his furious disapproval, his scorn, his harsh words as if they had happened just yesterday. And she remembered how his arms had caught and trapped her and held her so close she couldn’t have escaped had she tried.
    She skidded to a halt in the mud as the early morning mist parted, revealing the object of her disdain standing, arms crossed, in front of the stable doors. There was something decidedly wicked about him as he lifted those expressive eyebrows and rested the broad shoulders of his tailored coat against her only means of escape.
    “Going somewhere?” the duke asked pleasantly.
    “I have errands, your bloody awful lordship,” she spat out. “I have work to do, something I’m sure you’re not familiar with.”
    ***
    Neville felt the return of his headache as he regarded the recalcitrant female in breeches. He couldn’t think