What to Do with a Duke Read Online Free PDF Page B

right if you did go to your grave a spinster.”
    â€œIt would certainly serve me well.”
    She left the room and started down the stairs. It should take her only half an hour—twenty minutes if she walked briskly—to get to the Barker farm. If she was lucky, Mrs. Barker would take one look at her stained dress, sniff, and send her on her way—after first grabbing the basket, of course. If she encountered Mr. Barker, a quick escape would be a bit more difficult, but she should still be able to—
    There was a knock on the front door. It was probably Mrs. Greeley come to put the finishing touches on Mary’s gown. She hurried down the last few steps to let the woman in.
    â€œMary’s waiting for you—oh!”
    She blinked. It wasn’t stout, bespectacled Mrs. Greeley. It was a tall, athletically built man. He took his hat off to reveal thick, brown hair, bowed slightly, and smiled.
    He had the most attractive dimples.
    She’d always thought dimples effeminate, but these were completely masculine and strangely seductive, inviting her to come closer, daring her to do something dangerous—
    She took a deep breath. What was the matter with her?
    The man was clearly wondering the same thing. His right eyebrow arched up. He’d been saying something, and she hadn’t heard a word of it.
    She laughed nervously, feeling very much off balance. “I’m so sorry, sir. I wasn’t attending. I thought you were Mrs. Greeley. Not that you look like Mrs. Greeley, of course, but, you see, I was expecting her.”
    Drat it, now she was blathering like a complete ninny. She had to get a grip on herself.
    His eyes—his very nice brown eyes with long lashes that also should seem effeminate but didn’t—had widened and now gleamed with suppressed laughter.
    The situation was rather ridiculous.
    She pulled the door open wider. He was just another man.
    The man she’d fall in love with . . .
    Ha! He was just as likely—no, more likely—to be the king of the fairies. “Please come in. Are you here to see my father?”
    â€œIf your father is the vicar, then yes, I am.” He stepped over the threshold. “And who is Mrs. Greeley, if I may ask?”
    His voice, now that she was finally listening to it, was warm, educated, and as seductive as his dimples.
    And she was as shatter-brained as Mary, but with less reason. With no reason. Mary was on the verge of marriage; Cat was on the verge of making an utter fool of herself.
    She did wish she’d taken time to change her dress though. His eyes had flicked down to her disreputable bodice.
    Idiot! The man wouldn’t care if she was dressed in sackcloth—which this dress much resembled even without the stains. She’d never been very interested in fashion.
    â€œMrs. Greeley is the village dressmaker. She’s coming to finish Mary—my sister’s—wedding dress.”
    He was taller than any man she’d met before, with broader shoulders—
    No, he couldn’t have broader shoulders than Mr. Barker. It must be the cut of his coat.
    He certainly smelled better than Mr. Barker. Not a whiff of the barnyard about him.
    â€œI see. And you are . . . ?”
    â€œMiss Hutting, the vicar’s oldest daughter.” She forced her lips into a polite smile. The sooner she deposited this fellow with Papa, the sooner she’d get her errand done and her wits back. “If you would like to put your hat on the table there and come with me, I’ll take you to see my father.”
    â€œI don’t mean to keep you.” He gestured to her cloak and bonnet.
    â€œMy errand can wait.” She hung her things on a hook by the door. “Who should I tell him is calling?”
    â€œHart.” His eyes watched her carefully as if expecting her to say something. Odd.
    She turned toward Papa’s study. “Are you new to Loves Bridge, Mr. Hart?” Of course he was.