The Duke’s Secret Longings by Jarecki Amy

Author:Jarecki, Amy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oliver Heber Books
Published: 2022-12-27T00:00:00+00:00

5

WEDNESDAY, 12TH AUGUST 1818

Since the men had gone shooting with her father after breakfast, Lydia stole away to a cozy upstairs parlor for a much-needed respite. She’d brought a book along, but after reading a hundred pages, she had absolutely no idea what the story was about. She couldn’t even recall the hero’s name. Yes, Lydia might be a tad forgetful and distracted, but ever since the Duke of Hardwick had set foot in Heathcote Castle, her mind had been in an utter muddle.

The reception after yesterday’s recital had only made matters worse. How, in all of creation, was a woman supposed to think rationally when the Duke of Desire kissed the back of her hand? And for the love of Moses, it was merely a kiss on her hand. Since her debut, Lydia had received dozens of kisses to her hand, and nary a one had made her dizzy, or made her legs feel so weak that afterward she had to take a few deep breaths before continuing to her bedchamber.

She put her book aside and gazed at the fireplace. Why did Jesse’s kiss not move her?

Lydia had no answers.

About an hour or two after whiling away her time and taking luncheon in the little parlor, the sound of Papa’s barking setters resounded through the windowpane. She hastened to peer outside, realizing that it was well and truly pouring rain. Shrouded by oiled cloaks, the men hastened toward the barn with rifles in their hands, the dogs gaily leading the way. Hardwick wasn’t difficult to spot. He was nearly a head taller than everyone else.

The duke and Jesse stopped for a moment before the viscount took His Grace’s gun and continued to join the others. Hardwick changed directions and walked toward the door, but he hadn’t taken two strides when he turned his face up and looked directly at Lydia’s window as if he sensed he was being watched. Good Lord, he was a handsome man. Even soaking wet, the duke’s intense virility was enough to make her toes curl.

Lydia quickly backed away, opened the door, and looked expectantly toward the staircase. At the sound of footsteps, she hastened to the settee and picked up her book, feigning deep interest. Her heart raced when the duke stopped in the corridor.

“Miss Dashwood?” he asked, water dripping from his hair. His wet topcoat was draped over one arm while his shirt clung to his skin, revealing everything—powerful chest and shoulders, tapering to a belly rippled with lean sinew.

She closed the book and stood. “Your Grace, I’m surprised to see you back so soon.”

Hardwick raked his fingers through his damp hair, making the curls toss in a riot as if his valet had spent hours perfecting the style. “Your father cut the hunt short due to the rain.”

“Oh dear, I do hope the day wasn’t a complete loss.”

“No, it began well enough. The baron has trained his setters well.”

In truth, the dog handler was due all the credit, but the duke most likely knew that.

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