How to Marry a Duke Without Really Trying

by Eva Devon

  He smiled. There was something marvelous about witnessing this slightly wild indulgence.

  But then. . . he spotted her face.

  Long, russet hair, touched with red, tumbled about the lady’s lightly-freckled visage. Leaves had somehow come to be tucked into the riotous, wind-blown curls.

  Her brow was ever so slightly furrowed with concentration and her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink as if she were in utter awe of her literature. Her berry lips parted then curved in a smile.

  And he blinked, shocked at the sudden response he had. . . to Lady Eglantine Trewstowe.

  He took a step back, half-determined to escape unnoticed for he felt as if he had been hit with a rather large cudgel. His wits had gone. For just a few moments ago, he had been contemplating her bared feet and what he might like to do with her ankles and the limbs further up.

  It had not been innocent, what had been in his mind. It had been pure sin and certainly outside of this lady’s experience, which he was certain was basically absent.

  His mind could not quite make sense of the fact that the object of his carnal interest and admiration was his neighbor and childhood friend.

  A branch cracked beneath his foot and her gaze whipped up from the pages of her book. And met his.

  If he had thought her ankles riveting, her gaze, locked with his, inspired by the pages of whatever text she’d been reading, sent a shock through his entire body.

  Lust. Pure, undeniable, delicious lust slipped through his veins like the headiest wine and he could scarcely believe it.

  Those violet eyes, as rich as the flowers at her feet, met his with wide, stunned observation. And then, her lips curved into the most gamine grin.

  “George!” she crowed with unbridled happiness.

  She closed her book with a solid clap and all but leapt to her bare feet. Her skirts swished about her calves and shimmied along her hips as the skirts fell into place. And then as if she wasn’t a goddess walking barefoot among the fauna, she leaned against the tree with the air of a naughty, saucy nymph.

  The silk of her pink and white gown, now settled, draped across her legs and skimmed her small breasts.

  He’d known her all his life but, right now, it was as if he had met her for the very first time. And he was absolutely stymied. A state he’d never experienced.

  She gave him a cheeky wink. “Or should I say, Your Grace.”

  At long last, his addled brain gained some clarity. He cleared his throat. “I think we have known each other long enough to leave off such formality. At least in private.”

  “I did not think to see you just now,” she said with a slight blush, though there was nothing timid in her hurried proclamation.

  “Obviously,” he said, looking down to her feet.

  She laughed as she picked up a foot, contemplating it. “I am fortunate that you have seen them before, so it is not so very shocking.”

  He had seen her feet many times over the years. He’d seen them tramp through streams and up rock-strewn hills. He’d seen her leap from boulder to boulder over the moors. But not like this. Not like a wanton lost in a rich world of words and nature.

  Good God, they were just feet. What was ailing him?

  “I say, George, are you unwell?” she asked in a remarkable reflection of his own sentiments.

  He laughed. Unwilling to confess how she had so affected him, he chose to confess, “I am suffering under a great affliction.”

  She pressed her book to her middle which did the most distracting thing of plumping her breasts against the curve of her bodice. “Oh? How terrible for you,” she replied without a hint of mockery. “Do you care to unburden yourself?”

  He eyed her slowly, wondering what the devil was happening. For she was acting as if naught had changed between them in years. As if they could still romp in the stream in their under clothes together and nothing would come of it. As if they were still essentially as close as they had ever been. Which wasn’t true. Oh, there had been no moment of separation in which they had bid their great affection adieu but time and absence had altered their friendship. He had hardly thought of her at all except for those times he had seen her running about with Harriet. It angered him. How had he let Eglantine go? How had he not bothered to give her a thought at Oxford or at war? How much had he missed? What had he lost by not having her about him?

  Suddenly, he was certain that it was a very great deal.

  “Come now, George,” she said without artifice. “We have always been honest. I would be happy to help sort out whatever is upsetting you.”

  It was so tempting to rattle off the cares he had borne since they had last met and especially the one which presently weighed upon him so greatly. At last, he shook his head. “As tempting as it is, this particular trouble is mine.”

  “Ah,” she bounced, carefree. “But, perhaps, I could help you find a solution.”

  Her eyes danced and she seemed nothing but happy to see him.

  And suddenly, he remembered how wonderful it had been to run about the countryside with her and his friends. Now, of course, she was a woman. . . and she seemed to be completely at ease with him.

  “I don’t intimidate you at all, do I?” he asked, stunned as he realized that it was absolutely true. He could have been a dog’s body to her or the blacksmith’s son she was so frank. It was like a balm upon his soul. There were only four other people who were as frank with him. They were all men and dukes. This was most novel and most welcome.

  Her brow furrowed, puzzled by his statement. “Why should you?”

  He blinked. Did he truly need to explain? It seemed he did. “Most people bow and scrape with dukes.”

  “I beg your pardon,” she enthused. “I am remiss.”

  And then she swept the most elaborate of courtly bows. Not a curtsy. But a bow. And her fingertips, marked with ink, skimmed the earth. As she whipped upright, her thick hair tousled about her face.

  His breath fairly stopped at her magnificent irreverence.

  She was nothing like the other women of his acquaintance and he was riveted. Which was quite odd because, frankly, he knew women quite well. Or so he had thought.

  None of them caused him to be so surprised or simultaneously at ease as Eglantine Trewstowe. And for once, he felt like he was the one who was on unknown territory and the one who must please. It was deuced delightful.

  A slow smile tilted his lips as an outrageous but wonderful thought occurred to him. “Perhaps you can help me, after all.”

  “Glad to hear it, George,” she said triumphantly before she pushed away from the tree and arched a brow. With dramatic flair she said, “Now, I’m in a desperate state for tea. Aren’t you?”

  And much to his amazement, he found himself nodding and following the nymph like a bespelled mortal through the wood.

  Chapter 4

  Eglantine paused on their march homeward for refreshment and quickly pulled her stockings and slippers back on. Modesty didn’t concern her. Not in the slightest as she made quick work of shaking her skirts back into place. Not with George. Why, he’d seen her in naught but a chemise as a girl.

  It mattered not that he was an exceptionally handsome man. A ridiculously, exceptionally handsome man. For he was a man far beyond her reach and so she had never thought of him as anything but a remarkably handsome sort of brother.

  Oh, it was true, being the daughter of an earl with a substantial marriage portion should have marked her out as an excellent catch. But she knew she was rather odd looking what with her freckles and red-hued russet hair. And then, of course, there was the way her mind wandered to politics and literature.

  She was. . . well. . . she was odd. And odd often did preclude one from the best marriages.

  Now, it wasn’t that she didn’t think well of herself. She quite liked herself, truth be told. But his station was so incredibly high, his wealth so immense, and his charm so adored by all society, that she knew he would marry the daughter of another duke
at the very least.

  She could not deny that her heart had skipped a beat as she lifted her gaze to his and seen some unknowable emotion dance through his gaze. It had been most shocking, that skipping of beats. For one moment, she hadn’t been able to draw breath, and the strangest warmth had crackled along her limbs.

  It had nearly flummoxed her, that feeling over George.

  No, she thought, as she kept pace along the winding path, he was not for her. He never would be. And she had quickly shoved the hot spark of emotion away and she’d smiled at him in welcome. No, she would one day wed a second son, a scholar, a fellow who loved his library and garden.

  It was her destiny to have a nice, quiet life in the country, even if every now and then her soul seemed to sing for the wild adventure that lay between the pages of the books she so loved.

  Still, despite this knowledge, she couldn’t stop herself from sneaking glances at him.

  George Cornwall, Duke of Harley, was. . . perfect. He was almost a good foot taller than she. A veritable wall of a man. And really, she felt as if he took up so much room! Even here, in the forest, it seemed as if the trees made way for him.

  His sapphire coat clung to his broad shoulders, shoulders which seemed to rival Atlas in their strength, and his fawn breeches, well they seemed a second skin. His limbs were quite remarkable. They vastly outshone any of the engravings or statues that she’d had the good fortune to come upon. She could only imagine that if he were to be naked, a good art historian would immediately classify him in the Herculean style.

  The air was positively humming with his uncontainable and boundless energy and she felt shaken by it. Shaken in a way she could not remember. In fact, it was most perplexing for she had never recalled George evoking such a feeling of amazement in her before. She huffed a breath, doing her very best to not give way to such silly fancy. For fancy was all it could be.

  “I do not recall the last time we were alone,” she burst out.

  He laughed, a deep, rolling sound that seemed to fit in quite beautifully with the singing of the birds and waving bows of the trees. “Nor I. It must be years.”

  “It is most odd,” she said, frowning, unable to hide her feelings entirely.

  “Is it?” he queried lightly and a carefree smile seemed to tilt his lips. “I find it quite pleasant.”

  “Oh, it is,” she agreed quickly even as she eyed him up and down. “It is! But you’re a grand duke now.”

  His eyes sparked with amusement. “Am I?”

  “A duke?” she scoffed. “Of course you are, George.”

  “Grand,” he replied cheekily, bending his head towards her.

  She stopped and looked at him. Really looked. Dark hair feathered about his face. Once that face had been gentle, the face of a boy. But now? Now, it was hard angles. His jaw looked as if it were cut from granite. His eyes shone a deep blue-green that looked as if they had forgotten boyhood days. And his mouth. . .

  She quickly looked away, taking good view of the carpet of spring flowers, lest she do the unfortunate thing of blushing. It did not bear thinking on, his mouth.

  Surely, it was a mouth like any other. Yes. It smiled. Frowned. And had a goodly shape. But then she dared look again. It was a mouth that looked most experienced in its use of both words and kissing.

  To her dismay, the blush she so longed to refrain from heated her cheeks. How terrible! He’d think her an utter booby. Quickly, she cleared her throat. “Yes. You’re very grand, indeed.”

  “And you?” he prompted, clearly having no idea that she was contemplating his person in such a shameless way. “Have you grown into a fine young lady?”

  “Oh, yes,” she bemoaned, relieved to change the focus of her thoughts. “Despite all resistance.”

  “You resisted?” he asked, sounding properly shocked.

  “Wouldn’t you?” she said, arching a brow. “I never thought it a particularly inspiring role. Fine young lady. There is little panache in it.”

  “Whyever not?” His amazement was palpable, as if he’d never considered the alternative for a person such as Eglantine.

  Which, given the nature of his mother, was a bit surprising. Had he never considered Harriet’s own dislike of the cage that was destined for a fine young lady. It was clear that he had not. At least, not in any sort of meaningful way. No doubt, he thought everyone had their proper roles and should stick to them. Dukes did usually think such things.

  How best to explain it?

  She pursed her lips then explained, “Drinking tea. Dancing at parties. And laughing at the inanities that come out of all our sorts’ silly heads? A fine young lady is not even allowed to have an opinion on the war, let alone the essentials like her own upbringing.” She shrugged. “No, I would have much preferred to grow up to be a pirate.”

  He stared at her then a slow smile lit his face. “You really haven’t changed.”

  “Why should I?” she asked.

  He coughed. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to suggest you should. You’re an original, Eglantine.”

  She cocked her head to the side, surveying him. This was so interesting. For they had been apart so long that it was almost like getting to know a new person. But that was absurd. Was it not?

  At last she gave a nod. “I’ll dare to take that as a compliment.”

  “I meant it as one,” he assured. His brow furrowed. “Your first Season is this year, is it not?”

  She frowned. “Yes.”

  His lips twitched as he realized she was not going to sparkle and titter with glee at the prospect. “You don’t long to be a diamond of the ton?”

  “I long to be a pirate, remember.”

  “Ah. Yes.”

  “Firstly, I shall never be a diamond of anything,” she pointed out easily, holding her book a little tighter against her bosom. “And secondly, recall my reasons for not particularly wishing to be a fine young lady.”

  He looked at her with a most puzzling stare. As if he was suddenly assessing her as one might an apple for a pie.

  “Whatever are you thinking?” she demanded. Her voice was decidedly more breathy than she’d intended and she swallowed. Why the deuce would she be breathless?

  She tucked a mischievous lock of hair behind her ear. It was most annoying the way her hair did love to rebel.

  “That in all actuality,” he said, his voice low and rumbling, “this meeting is hardly proper.”

  “Proper?” she guffawed before she let out a laugh. “Why, George, I’ve seen you run naked.”

  He blinked then groaned. “I was very young,” he pointed out.

  She nodded in agreement. “As was I.”

  He stilled, gazing down at her. “Even so, we are not young now.”

  She gave him a gamine grin, unable to resist teasing him. “Are you in your dotage then?”

  He threw back his head and laughed again, clearly enjoying their exchange. “Eglantine, you are impossible.”

  “Another compliment,” she declared with dramatic triumph.

  A contemplative look stole across his face as he studied her. “I must confess, I find your company most. . . easy.”

  “That’s quite nice, because most people seem to find me rather difficult.”

  “I can’t believe it,” he protested.

  “Try,” she replied, barely able to bind her resignation to her reality. “Though I don’t really care what those people think of me. Their thoughts are worth a ten penny piece.”

  Or so she tried to convince herself more often than not. But people would always look at her as if she were terribly odd. In fact, she would often be halfway into an opinion on some subject or other, only to realize that whomever she was speaking to was looking at her as if she’d grown a second head.

  Except Harriet, her dearest friend. Harriet understood her in a way that no one else did. And that was quite enough.

  Truly.

  “I’m sure you will have many offers, and gentlemen shall fight for the honor to cal
l you wife.”

  “Don’t tease,” she replied, narrowing her eyes. It was all well and good to be told nice things about herself, but she wasn’t seeking patronizing falsehoods.

  “I don’t,” he replied. “I mean every word. Will you marry soon?”

  She still didn’t believe him, but decided not to press. Instead, she chose to be quite honest and answer his question. “I shall not marry until I find love.”

  He blinked. “Oh?”

  She gave a nod. She had no intention of making a bad job of her marriage. The country was littered with them. She’d never sought the majority and she wouldn’t in this case either.

  “What if the fellow was enormously wealthy with a good title?” he asked, carefully. “Would you consider that without grand passion?”

  She snorted. “He’d have to have a good brain first.”

  George gaped at her then let out another barrel laugh. “Oh, Eglantine, I’m so glad I stumbled upon you in the wood.”

  Delighted that he seemed so happy, she was still most puzzled by many of his reactions to her. “Whyever so?”

  “My problem,” he replied. “I think I have found the solution.”

  “Have you?” she asked, suddenly quite pleased for him.

  He nodded.

  “May I be so bold as to ask what it is?” she queried, hoping he’d share whatever revelation had come to him due to her company. It was thrilling to think she had assisted him, given the complexities of his life.

  “You,” he said softly. “You, Eglantine. Now, as much as I would like to have tea with you, I suddenly find I have some business that must be taken care of immediately.”

  His rush of words left her speechless. It was a most rare state of affairs.

  And as he swept a bow and left her with a buoyant step, she followed his departure, her own feet fixed to the forest floor.

  He cut through the woods as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders and she couldn’t understand what the devil had happened.

  How on earth could she be the answer to his problem?