When the Duke Found Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

duke.
    Nor was he an ordinary duke, either, if there were such a creature. Sheffield and Brecon and their other two cousins, the Duke of Marchbourne and the Duke of Hawkesworth, were all descended from the same king, with his royal blood in their veins. To be sure, they’d also the blood of the four mistresses who’d shared that king’s bed, but it was the royal contribution that separated them from the rest of the peerage. At court the four were considered nearer to being princes than other dukes, a difference that had only served to bind them more closely together. Was it any wonder, then, that Brecon had not only looked after Sheffield but understood him, too?
    Sheffield smiled now, remembering how many times he’d been called into this very room to answer for some sort of schoolboy misdemeanor or another. He’d always be grateful for what Brecon had done for him—he’d be the world’s most miserable ingrate if he weren’t—and for that alone he’d returned to London and Brecon’s library. Brecon’s letter could not be ignored. But this time what Sheffield would have to explain wasn’t firing guns beneath the proctor’s window after curfew. No, this time his misdeeds involved a beautiful young French marquise and, unfortunately, the lady’s jealous older husband as well.
    Sheffield sipped his brandy and sighed, more with remorse for his own behavior than with any residual desire for the Marquise du Vaulchier. He didn’t usually make mistakes like this one. He’d been impulsive where she was concerned, yes, but he’d thought he was still being discreet. He’d no idea the lady herself would trumpet their assignation across Versailles and directly into her husband’s ear, and as soon as Sheffield had realized what she’d done, he’d broken with her.
    He hoped that would be enough to placate Brecon, though Sheffield didn’t really know what other penance he could be expected to do. Besides, the entire brief affair had taken place in France, not England, and what happened to young English gentlemen—particularly young gentlemen who were dukes—in France was generally overlooked at home. It was one of the reasons he was so fond of Paris.
    “Sheffield!” Brecon came striding into the room to greet him, not pausing to first remove either his hat or coat. Whatever assistance Lady Hervey had required must not have been terribly arduous, for he was still dressed with his usual impeccable elegance, in a plum-colored silk suit with cut-steel buttons. Brecon was a gentleman very much in his prime, and Sheffield himself had observed how his cousin could make every woman, young or old, turn to look at him, and every man wish to be his friend. Brecon had presence .
    “How glad I am to see you again, cousin,” he said now, seizing Sheffield’s hand, “and how sorry I am that I have left you to wait alone.”
    “It’s fine to see you as well, Brecon,” Sheffield said, grasping his cousin’s shoulder with genuine affection. “You’d a good excuse, riding in like Galahad to Lady Hervey’s aid.”
    He’d meant it as a small jest, picturing his cousin in full Galahad armor as he rushed to rescue the doddering Lady Hervey from whatever domestic trial faced her.
    But Brecon didn’t take it as a jest, his face growing grimly serious.
    “What Lady Hervey required more than Galahad was a friend to listen to her woes, and I was happy to oblige,” he said, shrugging free of his coat, which a footman behind him deftly caught. “Her youngest daughter is something of a trial to her, running after every manner of rogue. I fear that Lady Diana has been indulged all her short life, and now refuses to make a graceful transition from a headstrong girl to an honorable and obedient wife.”
    Sheffield raised his brows with surprise. It rather seemed to him that Brecon, with his long parade of mistresses, would hardly be the proper gentleman to offer such advice. “I cannot imagine that you would have much to say on the