The Art of Duke Hunting by Sophia Nash

Author:Sophia Nash [Sophia Nash]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: David_James Mobilism.org
Published: 2012-03-28T20:27:10+00:00

Chapter 11

Roman Montagu would never understand females. Oh, he tried with the best of men, but failed right alongside the hordes of comrades left dazed and confused.

After their long afternoon at the mill, her comforting, silent presence, and his attempt to ease the tension between them after the disastrous moments in her bedchamber, he had thought they might find their ease with each other.

Yes. He had.

Instead, he, like all the many fools before him, was pacing the floor of his chamber, trying to decipher the best course of action to please a mysterious female.

Should he or should he not go to her bedchamber? Would she welcome him? Or would she throw a slipper at his head? Would she be insulted if he did not go? Or would it be more insulting if he went to her?

Lord, he needed a glass of brandy. It was the best idea he’d had the last hour. Enrobed in his dressing gown, he descended the front stair, as quiet as you please.

Roman opened the door to the room he presumed was the absent earl’s study, and found four heavy crystal decanters as empty as his brain, concerning ideas for how to please a woman. And damn it all, she was his wife! This should be easy, should it not?

He refused to search for spirits in another chamber. It was downright lowering. She had very likely emptied the manor of all spirits the day her husband had died.

Roman marched out the door, and headed off to bed sans brandy. At least he had taken his decision. Tonight was not the correct moment to seek out Her Grace, the Duchess of Norwich.

Said duchess, seated in the half-curtained window seat in the far corner of the study, silently watched Roman Montagu as he examined the empty decanters, and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

She wanted to laugh because she suddenly remembered the intricate etching of geese or ducks in tall grasses that decorated the decanters. Had he noticed?

She wanted to cry because this window seat was one of her favorite places in the beautiful stone manor, and she had spent many an evening right here, sketching or reading. In the past, she had at least had the comfort of knowing that she was loved by her husband.

But now? The one man she wished most could one day come to love her—never would.

Esme eased from her perch, retrieved the book William Topher had lent to her, and mounted the stairs to find her bed.

If ever she needed another sign that her marriage was a complete disaster in the making, this was it.

Esme opened the book to try to lose herself in the beauty of centuries of art in Vienna. Between the lines, she tried to forget all about Roman Montagu and concentrate on the trip she would take by the end of the season. Away from England, and Roman, she would finally be free to immerse herself in the only thing that was guaranteed to make her forget all about the Duke of Norwich.

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