Excerpt of My Fair Duchess by Julie Johnstone

Amelia’s stomach clenched and then a rather strange, warm sensation flooded her. She couldn’t help but stare openmouthed at the duke. He was handsome, shockingly so, reclined casually back in his chair with that devil-may- care smile on his face, his golden hair mussed and bronze stubble-glazed cheeks. Being married to him would be no hardship except for the fact that she didn’t love him and he didn’t love her. Oh, and he loved to sleep with women. Indiscriminately, so rumor would have it. She gave herself a mental shake to clear her head.

She decided to address her brother and pretend for the moment that His Grace was not there. Not staring at her as if she were utterly fascinating, which of course, she was not. “Philip, whatever is going on? You know very well I, um, er…” However did one say they had already given one’s heart to someone else when that someone else didn’t, as of yet, know?

Philip set down his fork, a deep-crimson blush creeping across his face. “I’m sure you are aware of our financial hardships.”

Amelia would have laughed if she did not feel so sorry for her brother. “I’m aware,” she said simply, keeping her gaze on Philip even though she could feel the heat of the duke’s stare on her face.

Philip tugged on his neck cloth until the perfect snowy knot came undone and the ends of the material hung from his neck. “Aversley and I have made a gentlemen’s bet, but if you don’t wish for me to go through with it, Emmy, I won’t.”

Amelia sucked her lower lip between her teeth. Philip never called her Emmy unless he was very worried or nervous, and she could never recall him using the pet name in front of persons other than their parents. “Perhaps you better tell me the wager…?”

“Of course. Well, you see?”

“Darlings!” her mother called out cheerily as she swept into the room in a swirl of pink silk.

Amelia spit out the large sip of water she had just taken. Droplets flew across the table and, to her horror, splattered on the duke’s face.

Without a word of acknowledgment about her social blunder, he wiped off his face and graced her with a grin. She could have gotten lost in his smile, but her mother’s perfume, mixed with the sweet stench of laudanum, reached her and reminded her what had caused her to spit out her water in the first place?shock.

When Amelia had checked on her mother before coming down to cook, her mother had refused to get out of bed and now she was completely transformed and apparently gay. “Mother, I’m so glad to so see you feeling better.”

Her mother jerked her head in Amelia’s direction. “I remembered it was Tuesday.”

Amelia frowned. That was an odd response. Perhaps it was the laudanum talking. “And Tuesdays make you feel better?” Amelia inquired, not wishing to point out the illogical statement and upset her mother.

The bright smile pasted on her mother’s face faltered for just a moment and her hand fluttered at her neck. “I would not say that. No, I would not say that at all, but Lord Huntington is calling on me to take me for a ride and to visit with his sister, and I could not cancel that.”

Amelia could swear her mother flinched when she said Lord Huntington’s name, but then that too large smile was back on her face. Something very odd was afoot. “Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be prudent, dear.”

Before Amelia could say more, someone knocked at the front door.

“That would be Lord Huntington!” Mother announced in an almost shrill tone.

Amelia started to push her chair back to join her mother in greeting the man?and perhaps to ascertain a clue as to what was going on?but her mother speared her with a stern look.

“Stay seated,” she commanded, as she used to do when Amelia was a young, wiggly child.

Amelia would have protested, but Philip discretely shook his head and rose. “Mother, I insist on saying hello to Lord Huntington.”

“If you really must,” she murmured, wringing her hands.

“I’m afraid I must,” Philip confirmed to Amelia’s relief. Philip was not near as attuned to picking up clues people were trying to hide, but hopefully he would discover something.

As they quickly departed the room, Amelia turned her gaze to the duke and was startled to find him staring at her again. She swallowed and forced herself to speak. “Since Philip is now occupied, perhaps you ought to go ahead and tell me what nonsense the two of you have concocted.”

The duke nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I wagered with your brother that I could transform you into a woman of grace by providing personal lessons and the appropriate blunt to purchase gowns and other necessities that would assist in the transformation.”

He spouted out the ridiculous wager with a straight face, as if delivering news of the weather. The heat of humiliation warmed Amelia’s cheeks. To her utter shock, His Grace reached across the table and grasped her hands. She realized as he held them tightly between his for a second, that she had been wringing them together. Once she stilled, he quickly released her, yet his hands remained flat on the table, the breadth of them displaying a hint of the strength and vitality he possessed. The crest ring gleaming on his finger was a potent reminder of the title he held, which clearly made the man think he could do or say anything.

She swallowed her mortification, determined not to show she was hurt that he thought she needed transforming. Of course he thought so. After this morning’s disaster, it was hard to think otherwise. She pushed the hurt away and tried to be logical. It was her best trait, after all, and one had to use their best qualities whenever possible. Perhaps he had an idea that would help her win Charles, and for that information, she would set her pride aside for a bit. “Do continue.”

“That’s one thing I like about you, Lady Amelia. I have known you less than two days, but I already see you are a woman of strength. Then again, most women are. It’s how they use their strength that’s so disturbing.”

“My gracious,” Amelia said, allowing a note of sarcasm to spill over. “Your compliments do so make my heart flutter. If winning my affection is part of the bet, I daresay perhaps you need lessons on flattery more than I need lessons on grace.”

“Is it flattery you want?”

His voice had pitched low, with an undercurrent of something beckoning.

She started to shake her head but caught her breath when his fingers stroked slowly down her hair.

“One look at you with your hair down made me want to lose myself in you.”

She gulped as flames licked not only her face but everywhere she most certainly should not be hot.

“Are you flattered?” he asked on a husky whisper.

She had to think about that. She was shocked. Thrilled. Perhaps flattered, but she’d never admit it. So instead, she stubbornly shook her head.

A low chuckle rumbled from him. “Excellent. I like a woman who makes me work for what I want.”

“And you want to win my love?”

“Love is not part of the bet,” he said, all traces of the rake gone and replaced with a no-nonsense tone.