To Marry The Duke Read Online Free PDF Page A

round and questioning, as if she were struggling to follow what was going on. James wondered what to make of her.
    “Are you enjoying your visit to London, Mrs. Wilson?” he asked the woman.
    “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you,” she replied, seeming flattered that he had asked. Her voice had a sharp, thorny quality to it.
    The young heiress wore a pleasant expression as she gazed down at her mother. Then, with disinterest, she turned her attention back to James, and he guessed that this was all for her mother’s benefit, to satisfy the woman’s desire to present her daughter to a duke.
    “And where is your home, Your Grace?” she asked. “What part of the country?”
    “Yorkshire,” he told her.
    “I’ve heard it’s lovely in the north.”
    He made no further comment, and there was an awkward, uncomfortable silence.
    “Do you have siblings there?” she asked.
    “I do.”
    “Brothers or sisters?”
    “Both.”
    “How nice. Are you very close to them? Do they travel to London with you when you come?”
    Whitby cleared his throat as if to say something, and James somehow knew his friend was going to correct the heiress on her behavior, for she had made another mistake.
    James suspected it was just as unimportant to her as the last one.
    “Miss Wilson,” Whitby said quietly, “perhaps someone should inform you that such personal questions may be acceptable in your home country, but here in England, they are considered rudely intrusive. I only mention it now as a friend, to save you some embarrassment. Has no one told you that?”
    He said it kindly, as gently as possible, but still, the mother appeared quite horrified at the situation. Her daughter, however, revealed nothing of the sort.
    “Yes, I have been told.” She snapped open her fan and flapped it leisurely in front of her face. “But I thank you all the same.”
    Whitby made a slight bow as if to say “you’re welcome,” and all James could do was try not to laugh out loud and say “Bravo!” to the girl. Perhaps Whitby was right. Perhaps James was more of a rebel than he thought, for why else would he be so impressed by such a display. She had smirked at the English social code and didn’t seem to give a damn. That’s why Bertie was so taken with her—because of her daring nonconformity. It kept him entertained. It was a good thing, too, for if not for the Prince’s enthusiastic endorsement, she would be finished.
    James gazed down at the frazzled mother, who had gone pale and seemed to think all was lost. He simply had to ease the poor woman’s mind.
    “I was disappointed to hear that your dance card is full,” he said to Miss Wilson. “Perhaps next time I will arrive in time to—”
    A look of panic flew across her mother’s face. “Oh! No, Your Grace! Her card is not full! I’ve kept one dance open. The last one.”
    Somehow he was not surprised. James smiled. “Then would you be so kind as to allow me to fill it?”
    “Oh, yes! Yes!” The mother grabbed clumsily for the card at her daughter’s wrist, tugged it downward and quickly penciled in his name.
    The small woman’s cheeks flushed with what he could only describe as a mixture of triumph and ravenous hunger. There it was again. Nothing new, though English mothers of marriageable daughters usually did a better job at hiding it than this one.
    Miss Wilson smiled politely. “I’ll look forward to it, Your Grace.”
    He settled his gaze on her.
No, you won’t
.
    Just then, a gentleman appeared out of nowhere, took her hand, and led her to the center of the floor. James watched her intently as she began a
Quadrille
.
    Mrs. Wilson excused herself and ventured off toward a group of ladies, and James was left standing with Whitby, who immediately chided himself.
    “What was I thinking? Correcting her like that?”
    James laughed. “She certainly took it well.”
    “Ah, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to cross me off her card tonight. Damn my idiocy. I was