Mad About the Duke Read Free Page B

in the eye of a constant maelstrom of scandal.
    But never had he brought those winds home to roost by his own accord, by his own misfortune.
    Glancing over at Jack, who was still braying like a jackass, James sent his brother his most quelling glance.
    And like everything else on this most upside-down day, his scornful regard did nothing to stop his brother’s loud guffaws.
    â€œI see nothing amusing about this,” James declared.
    â€œYou wouldn’t,” Jack replied, having managed to at least get himself straightened up, though his lips still twitched traitorously. He tugged at his coat and did his best to appear concerned.
    He failed utterly.
    â€œWhat do you expect me to do?” Jack said, retaking his post beside the mantel. “Start making lists of likely gentlemen for the lady? I think that would be more Winston’s territory than mine. He’s more of a list man.”
    James’s gaze swung up at the thought of having to ask his only too formal and proper secretary to come up with a list of likely and respectable London bachelors.
    Good God, poor Winston would probably quit in horror. “I don’t need that sort of help. I need to extract myself from this…this…”
    â€œScandal?” Jack suggested, rocking back on his heels. “Disgrace, dishonor, impropriety…” He paused, then snapped his fingers. “Ah! And my personal favorite— black stain .”
    His brother needn’t enjoy this so much. But thenagain, hadn’t he, the duke, used those same words over the years to describe Jack’s various escapades?
    â€œI prefer ‘ situation, ’” James corrected.
    At this, Jack smiled. His brother would. He’d wiggled his way out of more scandals and “situations” than the family annals could record. “Yes, well your situation is quite the situation, isn’t it?”
    Really, did he have to grin so? Even if it was a situation, deserving of italics and emphasis.
    But unlike what Jack outwardly saw as James’s problem, there was an entirely different aspect to this mess.
    Her. Lady Standon. Elinor.
    James reached up and rubbed his chest. For suddenly it had begun to tighten and pound.
    As it had the moment he’d clapped eyes on her.
    â€œAgreed. I am in a bit of a muddle,” James acquiesced, shaking off his private musings, “but now is the time to get me out of it.”
    Because he wasn’t looking for a lady in his life. Not a flirtation. Not a mistress. And certainly not a wife.
    He was past all that. At least that was what he’d told himself up until half past two this very afternoon. He knew the exact moment when he’d spied her, for there had been a clock on the mantel in the parlor.
    And for some reason it seemed important to remember that very moment.
    Jack took a step back. “Why didn’t you just correct her, explain who you were and leave?”
    Yes, his brother would have to point out the obvious route of escape after the fire had gutted the building.
    And while it would be easy to blame his own rattled senses—for he had taken a good chop to the head today—there was a very good explanation for why he hadn’t done just that, why he hadn’t just turned on one heel and left, as would have been expected of the Duke of Parkerton.
    Because of her. That hair. Those eyes. It wasn’t like there weren’t enough dewy blondes about. Why, some years they were as persistent and as prevalent as narcissus in the spring.
    No, it was because of her. Elinor.
    Lady Standon, he corrected himself. She’d come breezily in through the doorway and gazed at him and he’d felt himself transfixed, changed, utterly and completely.
    And he could have sworn he’d seen a spark in her eyes as well, at least that was until she’d gathered her wits about her and noticed his coat.
    Well, no, not his coat precisely but Jack’s coat. The one he’d