Under A Duke's Hand Read Online Free PDF

me. Do not
disparage her, and do not insult me because you found my clothing
too poor for your ducal sensibilities. We can’t all ride about in
gilded carriages.”
    Her sharp scolding pricked him. This was the
worst possible beginning to a marriage. He would not be a henpecked
husband; this snippety girl would show him respect or she’d receive
a spanking in earnest, one she would be hard-pressed to forget. He
looked about to see who was near, then leaned closer and spoke in
her ear.
    “I care nothing for your clothes, or your
damned horse. I wish to know if it’s your regular habit to dally
with unknown men. Because if it is—”
    “It’s not,” she said. “I had never...
Before... It was your fault. You shouldn’t have been there. That
meadow was my special, private place to be alone, and spend time in
meditation.”
    The heartbroken tenor of her voice confounded
him. He wanted to be angry. If only this entire debacle was not his
fault. If only he’d stayed silent and crept from the clearing,
rather than play with the pretty toy dangled before his eyes. She’d
gone straight to the lake and sat upon her rock, and he should have
left her there to her musings.
    He hadn’t. His fault.
    They exchanged no more words as they went in
to dinner, both of them fuming and trying not to show it. The
baron’s manor seemed as shabby and old as his betrothed’s pitiful
horse. Was the structure fourteenth century? Thirteenth? The floor
was cracked, the walls crumbling with centuries of wear. The dining
room was a true medieval great hall with scorched and pocked walls
from past skirmishes, probably with the English. God help him.
    He and Miss Vaughn were placed next to one
another at the roughhewn table, in the midst of overflowing trays
and gauche candelabras. The seating was so crowded their elbows
touched. The Lisburne family, whose names he could not keep
straight, smiled and frowned and stared, and occasionally murmured
to one another behind their fingers. Neighbors arrived in the
middle of the meal, unannounced, and squeezed onto benches wherever
they pleased. Aidan was introduced more times than he could
remember. He finally stopped standing, as it was not a very
courteous company.
    Wine flowed, and noisy conversations took
place in a mish-mash of English and Welsh. Whenever those around
him lapsed into the unfamiliar tongue, Aidan assumed they were
talking about him. Every so often, someone asked him a question
about London politics, or the king’s business, or some other
uncomfortable topic. As soon as he answered in as vague a way as
possible, they went back to bantering back and forth in Welsh. Miss
Vaughn sat stiff and silent beside him, barely touching a bite of
the celebratory offerings.
    It was a painfully awkward dinner, but in the
midst of the bedlam, a lovely thought occurred to him: I get to
marry the fairy queen.
    Crumbling castle, dripping candles, scowling
brothers, rough-edged guests. So be it. At some point in the very
near future, he would have the right to take her hair down from
those braids and kiss her, and play with her, and turn her from a good girl to a bad girl. He looked down at her breasts again
and, this time, he allowed his gaze to linger. Those would be his,
those delectable globes, along with the rest of her body. In the
meadow, she’d displayed a smoldering sensuality that he couldn’t
wait to explore. The way she had looked up at him as he spanked
her, with that longing, and confusion—
    “Your Grace?”
    Her father looked at him expectantly. Blast.
Had everyone at the table seen him slavering over Guinevere’s
breasts? “I beg your pardon,” he said, to indicate he hadn’t heard
the question.
    A few muffled guffaws drifted down the table.
Lord Lisburne flashed a gap-toothed smile. “I said that you’re
welcome to start the toasts, sir, as our guest of honor.”
    The servants streamed in with more wine. Was
this to devolve into a drunken rout, then? He finally understood
why