Seducing the Duchess by Ashley March

Author:Ashley March [March, Ashley]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2010-10-04T21:00:00+00:00

Charlotte was two and twenty years old. Old enough to know the dangers of the world, and experienced enough to feel herself leaning toward doing something entirely foolish.

And though she usually delighted in doing foolish things, she was also a creature of self-preservation.

She knew, as thoroughly as she knew the many quirks of her husband’s smile, that to dance with Philip would be a mistake. Not only because she already felt more vulnerable in his presence than he had a right to make her feel, but also because she had never, never thought once in her life that she would hear Philip Burgess, the ninth Duke of Rutherford, ask to dance with her at a country fair.

It was unfathomable. Completely plebeian. Coarse. Common. Vulgar.

Exactly like her, and nothing like him.

And yet the foolish part of her—oh, there were so many foolish parts when it came to Philip—refused to allow him to retract the offer.

If Philip chose to lower himself to the level of the masses, to kick up the same dust as maids and farmers and wheelwrights, then she would be there to ensure he didn’t change his mind.

That was the reason why she laid her hand firmly over his, performed a small curtsy, and answered, “Why, of course, Your Grace.”

Not out of any particular desire to dance with him. And certainly not because she wished to allay the awkwardness between them which had arisen moments before.

Perhaps—and here she was willing to admit this bit of spitefulness was part of her self-preservation—he would dance poorly and make an utter fool of himself.

Smiling a bit to herself and ignoring the warmth creeping from his hand to hers, then up her forearm to her elbow and beyond, she allowed him to lead her toward the dancing.

Some people in the crowd around the dancers were like her, straining toward the music, their toes tapping anxiously as they hummed along. And though they were fewer, there were also some like Philip: steady, silent, unmoving as they watched the performance with rapt attention.

The music ended with a hearty cheer from both the dancers and the observers, and those nearest the open circle quickly jumped in to claim their places. Since she and Philip stood near the middle of the crowd, they were required to wait again.

The main fiddler—a short, squat man with a bald head and a bushy beard that took up nearly half his face—bowed to the onlookers and then to the newest round of dancers. He lowered his head over the bow and began to draw out a few long, melancholy notes—the beginning of a ballad, or a dirge, but definitely not a reel.

He halted, raised his head expectantly, and in a chorus of voices, the dancers and the crowd around them heckled him, hollering for a “nice tune, Billy.”

Charlotte cupped her hands around her mouth and joined in, whooping a time or two.

Then, with a wink and a grin which turned his eyes into little half-moons, Billy lowered his head again. This

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