The Lady Most Willing . . . Read Online Free PDF Page B

He’d
     called her Delilah.
    He obviously did this sort of thing with her .
    “Where’s Taran?” she practically groaned.
    “Didn’t you say he likely forgot about us?”
    She sighed.
    “Oakley won’t,” the duke said.
    She turned and blinked. “I beg your pardon.”
    “Lord Oakley. He won’t forget to find us rooms. I’ve known him for years. The only
     thing that is making this bearable is that he must be dying inside over all this.”
    “You don’t like him?”
    “On the contrary. I’ve long considered him a friend. It’s why I enjoy his misery so
     much.”
    Men were very strange, Catriona decided.
    “He’s quite proper,” the duke explained.
    “And you’re not?” She bit her lip. She should not have asked that.
    The duke did not turn, but she saw a faint smile play across his mouth. “I’m not as
     proper as he is,” he said. Then he glanced her way. “Apparently.”
    Catriona blushed. To the tips of her toes, she blushed.
    The duke shrugged and turned back to the fire. “Trust me when I tell you that nothing
     could give him greater agony than to be party to something like this. I’m sure he’d
     much rather be the aggrieved than the perpetrator.”
    “But he’s not—”
    “Oh, he’ll still feel like he is. Ferguson is his uncle.”
    “I suppose.” She was quiet for a moment, then asked, “What about the other one?”
    “Rocheforte, you mean?” he asked, after the tiniest pause.
    She nodded. “Yes, although . . . Is he Mr. Rocheforte or Lord Rocheforte? I feel quite
     awkward not knowing what to call him. I’ve never met a French comte before.”
    The duke gave a little shrug. “Mr. Rocheforte, I believe. It would depend upon the
     recent Royal Charter.”
    Catriona had no idea what he was talking about.
    “He won’t mind whatever you call him,” the duke continued. “He takes nothing seriously.
     He never has.”
    Catriona was silent for a moment. “An odd set of cousins,” she finally said.
    “Yes, they are.” Then he turned to her abruptly and commanded, “Tell me about the
     rest of them.”
    For a moment she just stared in surprise. His tone had been so imperious. But she
     did not take offense. It was likely a more usual tone of voice than the one he had
     been using. He was a duke, after all.
    “We’re to be stuck together for several days,” he said. “I should know who everyone
     is.”
    “Oh. Well . . .” She cleared her throat. “There is Lady Cecily, of course. But her
     father is the Earl of Maycott. Since you were at Bellemere, you must know her already.”
    “A bit,” he said offhandedly.
    “Well, that’s more than I know of her. Her family has been renovating Bellemere for
     nearly two years. It seems a folly to me, but . . .” She shrugged.
    “You’re quite practical, aren’t you?”
    “May I take it as a compliment?”
    “Of course,” he murmured.
    She smiled to herself. “I don’t think the Maycotts plan to be in residence for more
     than two weeks per year. It seems an inordinate amount of money to spend on a house
     one rarely uses.”
    “It’s lovely, though.”
    “Well, yes. And I cannot complain. The village has not been prosperous since—” She
     stopped herself. Better not introduce politics with an Englishman. Especially one
     who likely owned half of England. “The Earl of Maycott has provided many jobs for
     the villagers, and for that I am grateful.”
    “And the others?” he asked.
    “The Chisholm sisters,” Catriona said. Dear heavens, how to explain them ? “They are half sisters, actually, and . . . not terribly fond of each other. I don’t
     really know Fiona that well—it’s Marilla who is my same age.” She pressed her lips
     together, trying to adhere to the whole if-you-don’t-have-anything-nice-to-say doctrine.
     “They’ve both been down to London, of course,” she finally said.
    “Have you?” the duke asked.
    “Been to London?” she asked with surprise. “Of course not. But I