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.