Duchesses in Disguise by Grace Burrowes & Emily Greenwood & Susanna Ives

Author:Grace Burrowes & Emily Greenwood & Susanna Ives [Burrowes, Grace & Greenwood, Emily & Ives, Susanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grace Burrowes Publishing
Published: 2017-03-14T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

* * *

Kit hobbled into the library with the assistance of Stratton’s butler and sank gratefully onto the settee, having ignored the duchess’s suggestion that he have a pair of footmen carry him to his room immediately. She clearly thought he was being foolish in not taking to his bed, but she simply gave an abrupt nod and, with the ease of a woman accustomed to being obeyed, asked the butler to see that a doctor be sent for. Then she ordered tea.

His leg was on fire. Not only the ankle, which had burst into agony the moment he twisted it, making a revolting popping sound, but his whole leg. He did, however, feel fairly certain that it was not broken since it could bear his weight, if painfully. At least, he profoundly hoped that it was not.

To his surprise, though the duchess might now in all conscience have left him—she’d certainly made no secret of her wish to avoid his company before—she lingered, fussing over his ankle. She brought over a footstool and gently lifted his leg onto it.

“The doctor may be some time,” she said. “It would perhaps be best to remove your boot now. It could be that further damage is being done to your foot, or perhaps even to your circulation.”

“You look sturdy enough, ma’am, but I don’t think you will be able to assist me in removing my boot. And I’m sure I’m not capable of pulling it off myself just now.”

“I don’t propose to pull it off, sir.” A maid was just arriving with the tea tray, and the duchess dispatched her to fetch a pair of shears.

“You propose to destroy my boot?” It was his favorite pair, and while it had occurred to him that it might be necessary to cut off the boot, he had not reconciled himself to the loss of it.

“Yes.”

His foot was throbbing painfully, but talking to her distracted him wonderfully. “I believe you are enjoying the idea of ruining my boot.”

“It’s only a shoe,” she said as the maid returned with the shears. The duchess took them, dismissed the girl, and came to stand by his leg, holding the scissors up as she considered his boot.

“You look diabolical. I begin to think your true purpose is to seek revenge on me.”

“Revenge? Why should I want revenge on you, sir?”

He was accustomed to merry widows, to giddy actresses and willing mistresses— women who did not regret their sexual adventures. But the Duchess of Coldbrook wasn’t a merry widow. He would have said she was a prude, but that didn’t seem right either.

“Because you regret succumbing to your carnal desires, and I was the one you succumbed with. People always dislike those they associate with their own weakness.”

“I expect that’s something about which you know a great deal.” She paused, the shears raised, and lifted her eyes to him with directness. “And who said it was weakness?”

With that, she nudged his leg a little to the side, positioned the

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