My American Duchess Read Free Page A

sir, but I can tell you that it is perishingly difficult for an American to transform herself into the perfect English lady! You should try it.”
    He had a very appealing dent in his cheek when he smiled. “I’m quite sure I would fail. For one thing, I wouldn’t look anywhere near as appealing in a gown as you do.”
    He was right about that. He was uncommonly large. Of course, so was she: much taller than any lady had a right to be, as Miss Fairfax had remarked any number of times.
    “Do you, in fact, know why Americans add tea to their milk rather than the other way around?” he asked, returning to her earlier claim.
    “Because it is the correct way to do it, of course,” she said, twinkling at him.
    He shook his head. “Here’s a fact for you. Your countrymen add boiling tea to their milk in order to scald it, in case its quality is not all one would wish.”
    “Oh for goodness’ sake,” she cried. “Don’t tell me you’re as ignorant of Americans as everyone else at this ball! My aunt’s housekeeper would die of humiliation before she would serve milk that wasn’t absolutely fresh.”
    “Then why do Americans put milk in their cup first?”
    “It tastes better. The only reason English people do the reverse is to demonstrate that their china is of the very best quality and won’t break. Inferior china cracks immediately if you pour in scalding water without first cooling it with milk. And before you ask, we Bostonians drink from the very best Chinese porcelain.”
    Rats. She’d been waving her hands about, which was one of the habits she was determined to curb. Cedric had mentioned once that ladies should not resemble Italian opera singers.
    The way this gentleman could smile with only his eyes was quite . . .
    She really should return to the ballroom before she did something foolish. “If you will excuse me, sir, I must allow my dance partner to find me.” She gave him a smile. “Or rather, fetch me. I’ll bid you good night.”
    When he still didn’t move, she began to edge around him.
    “Do satisfy my curiosity,” he said softly. “Why on earth did American gentlemen leave you free to voyage to England and enjoy our season?”
    He had no business looking at a betrothed woman with that gleam in his eye, though of course he was unaware she was engaged, since her diamond was concealed by her glove. He took a step toward her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body.
    And then his eyes moved to her mouth, for all the world as if he were as consumed by desire as Bertie used to be.
    That was a nonsensical comparison, because he was an English gentleman and even a fool could tell that this man had complete control over himself and his emotions.
    His eyes moved lower still, to her gloved hands. He frowned. “Are you married?”
    “No!” she said hurriedly. “The truth is . . . The truth—”She should tell him that she had become betrothed to Cedric that very evening. But for some reason she blurted out a different truth.
    “I earned myself a reputation.”
    He stared at her for a second. “You surprise me.”
    “Not that sort of reputation! It’s just that I—well—to be honest, I have fallen in love more than once. But I wasn’t truly in love, because each time I came to see that it had been a terrible mistake. I had to break off two betrothals.”
    He shrugged. “You’ve learned a valuable lesson about that overrated emotion, love. Why should that earn you a reputation?”
    “I’m appallingly inconsistent,” she explained. “I truly am. I made a particularly regrettable choice with my second fiancé, who was far more interested in my fortune than my person. He sued me for breach of promise, and everyone learned of it.”
    “Surely that speaks ill of him, not you,” he said, clearly amused.
    “There was nothing funny about it,” she said tartly. “Dermot had borrowed on his expectations. That is, the expectation that he would marry me.”
    “Did the suit go to