Good Dukes Wear Black Read Free

something to gain from the hypothetical match.
    Poor Edwin, Ophelia thought as she kept the top of Trent’s head in sight. He likely had no idea what a bone of contention he’d proved to be for his two most popular contributors.
    It soon became obvious that Trent was leading Grayson to one of the private family rooms of the large town house. She was aware of the impropriety of her course of action even as she continued to follow them, but she could see no other option.
    George Grayson was not only going to ruin his wife’s reputation among the ton, but he was also going to expose her identity as the author of one of the most popular columns with the ladies of the ton . “Ask a Reigning Toast” was an advice column to which the most desperate of society ladies turned when they needed advice on how to climb the ranks of the social ladder. And it had turned the Ladies’ Gazette into a best seller among the ladies of both the beau monde and those who aspired to enter it.
    Since the success of Maggie’s column also ensured the success of Ophelia’s own, lesser known column about needlework, she had a vested interest in keeping Maggie’s going.
    That meant stopping George Grayson from revealing his wife’s identity as well as convincing him to leave her to her own devices.
    â€œI suggest you turn around and go back to the ballroom, Miss Dauntry,” Trent called to her over his shoulder as they neared the door to his study. “I appreciate your need to fight for your friend, but I will manage Grayson from here.”
    But she hadn’t followed them this far just to turn around and go back to the dancing.
    â€œI can appreciate your concern, your grace,” Ophelia said, rushing forward and slipping into the room just when Trent would have closed the door. “But I must speak privately with Mr. Grayson.”
    â€œDon’t have nothin’ to say to ye,” that man said from where he’d collapsed into a wing chair. “Damned nuisance. Convincing m’wife to take up w’ that newspaperman.”
    Glaring at Ophelia in exasperation, Trent sighed deeply and gestured for her to take the seat near Grayson’s. “If you insist on being here, then you’d best get on with it before your mother comes searching for you.”
    For a moment, Ophelia was flustered. She hadn’t thought Trent paid her the least bit of attention. Certainly not enough to note her mother’s intentions for her. While they were often in company together, she knew that as a duke and a devilishly handsome one at that, what with his broad shoulders and gleaming dark hair with a tendency to curl if it was left too long, he had no reason to take notice of her at all.
    â€œDo not look so surprised,” he said in answer to her wide eyes. “You are an unmarried young lady out in London society. It’s hardly a great leap of logic to guess that your mother has aspirations for you to marry well.”
    She closed her mouth, abashed. Of course he’d guessed. It was foolish of her to think he’d been paying close attention to her and her family. He had much better things to do.
    â€œWell,” she said once she’d regained her control. “I think we are safe for a bit since she’s in the card room at the moment. And even if she were not, I would risk bringing her wrath down on me in order to speak to Mr. Grayson.”
    â€œWhy,” Trent, asked, glancing to where Grayson sat scowling at a fray in his shirt cuff as if it had personally done him a wrong. “You’ve already scolded the fellow for his mistreatment of his wife. I should think that was a conversation best had when he’s sober enough to remember it.”
    He had a point there, she thought. Still, she had to try to get through to Grayson now so that he wouldn’t speak out again tonight.
    Not bothering to respond to Trent, she turned to her friend’s husband.
    â€œMr.