Not Quite A Duke by Eva Devon

Author:Eva Devon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Bard Publishing Inc
Published: 2016-06-14T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

The banging on the front door shook the house and Patience’s head. She let out a low wail, clutched her hair and buried her face in her pillow.

“Go away,” she groaned.

The door knocker slammed passionately.

Whoever it was, clearly wished to be seen.

She heard the door open followed by the soft mumblings of her butler then the strong tones of a woman.

She blinked. Who the devil could be calling so early?

She sat up then winced.

Last night had been marvelous.

In a few hours, she’d learned more about men than she had in years by Mrs. Barton’s side.

Lord Charles had certainly been correct. He had skills that no one else could share with her. They weren’t just bedroom skills, either.

Lord Charles and the Duke of Aston were the type of male she’d never truly encountered before.

All the rakes she’d met in gambling halls were simpering poodles compared to them.

And Charles. . . Charles, by far, was the most exciting and mysterious of the two.

Oh, Aston was wonderful fodder for her stories but it was the elusive Charles that she wanted to study. To know.

The knock on her bedroom door shook her reverie. “My lady, you have a visitor.”

She winced anew. “Tell them it’s too early.”

“They’re most insistent.”

“Insist it’s too early.”

There was a long silence then the butler said, “I would but. . . But. . .”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t think you’d wish to offend a duchess.”

Her heart slammed. “A what?”

“The Duchess of Hunt is in the morning room.”

She hesitated for a moment then vaulted out of bed. It was far too early for a spontaneous call. Something was amiss.

Something terrible. It had to be. Duchesses didn’t pay calls in such haphazard fashion.

Without awaiting her maid, she pulled on a simple black gown and pinned up her hair. She glanced in the mirror.

Oh dear. What a fright.

She glanced at her clock. It was not yet nine and she had not gotten in until almost five.

There was nothing for it.

Quickly, she cleaned her teeth then headed down the stairs.

Remembering she was meant to be Lady Patience, she slowed her step and entered the morning room with as much dignity as possible.

The Duchess of Hunt whirled around, her beautiful sapphire silk skirt shining in the early light, a news sheet clutched in her hand.

“Good morning, Your Grace. Would you care for coff—“

“You’re ruined,” the duchess said firmly.

“Coffee?” her voice died and her gaze dropped to the newspaper. Word of her sojourn with Aston and Charles could not have gotten out and not quickly enough to be in the papers.

“You need my help,” the duchess kept on. “And badly.”

“I don’t follow, Your Grace.” And she didn’t. She felt totally at sea.

“Call me Cordelia. I think we are going to have to be very close. Very quickly.”

Her mouth dried. “Could you make yourself plain, C-Cordelia? You’re giving me great unease.”

The Duchess of Hunt drew in a deep breath. “I will not apologize for it. You’ve reason to feel as you do.”

Coming from the blunt, yet optimistic, duchess such a proclamation felt dire, indeed.

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