A Duke Never Yields Read Free

artificial manners so common in well-bred bastards. Burke simply went about his business and did not give a damn, and as a result he was received everywhere. In his heart, Wallingford counted Burke as his closest friend, though of course one could never publicly admit such a thing of one’s natural uncle.
    Really, Burke was so steadfast and clever, so stalwart in any crisis, Wallingford could almost forgive him for being the apple of Olympia’s eye.
    “You see,” Olympia said softly, “I know how it is. You’ve always been a duke, or else in daily expectation of a dukedom. You have been blessed with a handsome face and a sturdy figure. You take these things for granted. You think that you have earned all this around you”—his arm, at a wave, took in the splendid furnishings, the army of servants moving soundlessly behind the walls, the rarefied pavement of Belgrave Square outside the windows—“instead of having it dropped in your lap like an overripe peach. You think you deserve to enjoy sexual congress with some mere acquaintance, against the wall of your own mistress’s conservatory, simply because you can. Simply because you are His Grace, the Duke of Wallingford.”
    “I recognize my good fortune. I see no reason not to enjoy its fruits.”
    “Its fruits ? This woman, this lady of good family, with a mind and soul of her own—she is reduced to a mere vegetable, in your calculus?”
    Wallingford turned his attention to the sleek cashmere sleeve of his dressing gown, searching for a piece of lint at which he might brush, laconically, to show his disinterest. But Shelmerstone was far too efficient a valet to allow any flaws to disturb the impeccable line of the ducal sleeve, and Wallingford was reduced to brushing phantom lint into the dustless air. “I seem to recall,” he said, “that the lady in question was enjoying herself.”
    “Really?” Olympia’s voice was cold. “I rather doubt you would have noticed either way. In any case, I’ve decided that all this nonsense has gone far enough. You are nine-and-twenty, and a duke. With regret, I must demand you not to accept this proposal of Burke’s, however edifying, and turn your attention instead to marriage.”
    Wallingford looked up, certain he’d misheard the old man. “ Marriage? ” he asked, as he might say the word castration . “Did you say marriage ?”
    “I did.”
    “Are you mad ?”
    Olympia spread his hands. “Surely you recognize the necessity.”
    “Not at all. We still have Penhallow, who would make an extraordinarily decorative duke, should I have the misfortune to choke on a chicken bone at dinner this evening.”
    “Your brother has no interest in your title.”
    Like a pitcher turned upside down, Wallingford found his patience had run abruptly out. He rose from the chair in a bolt of movement. “Have we come to the point at last? Is this why you came to see me this morning? I am to be a stud? My ability to breed another duke constitutes the sum total of my usefulness to you, does it?”
    “My dear boy,” Olympia said, “has the entire conduct of your adult life ever suggested your usefulness for anything else?”
    Wallingford turned to the tray of coffee and poured himself a cup. No cream, no sugar. He wanted the drink as black as his mood. Marriage , indeed. “I have many talents, Grandfather, if you ever bothered to count them.”
    Olympia waved that away. “Don’t be a child, Wallingford. In any case, you need not concern yourself with the tiresome matter of choosing a wife. I’ve done all the work for you. I have, in my deep and abiding regard for you, found you the perfect bride already.”
    Wallingford, in the very act of lifting the cup to his lips, let it slip instead with a thump to the rug below. Such was his astonishment, he did not bother to retrieve it. “ You have found me a bride?” he repeated, in shocked tones, clutching the saucer as if it were a life buoy.
    “I have. Charming girl. You’ll