My Fair Temptress Read Free Page A

actresses…?”
    “Good heavens, what is it the old biddies discuss when they get together with you?” he asked, appalled.
    Her smile blossomed into real amusement. “Not much. Only everything men would like to think we don’t know.”
    In the doorway, Phillips cleared his throat. “My lord, His Grace grows impatient.”
    “You’d better go, dear.” Mum returned to her desk. “Will you stay for dinner?”
    “I wish I could, but I have an appointment.”
    “Ah.” She nodded wisely.
    Jude wanted to tell her this had nothing to do with an actress, but really, her suspicions were better roused that direction. With a bow, he left her and strode ahead of Phillips toward his meeting with his father.
    “Your Grace, the earl of Huntington has arrived,” Phillips announced with a pompousness honed by years of practice.
    Paxton Durant, the duke of Nevett, sat ensconced in his favorite chair in his favorite drawing room, and kept his gaze fixed to his newspaper. “Send my son in, Phillips.”
    The old butler tottered off to do his duty by roasting another inexperienced footman over the coals of propriety until the fellow was servile enough to serve in His Grace’s household. Because, as Jude knew very well, everything that surrounded His Grace must be perfect, as it had been for fourteen generations before them and no doubt would be for fourteen generations to come.
    Jude walked toward the older man, his high-heeled boots ringing on the hardwood floors. It was obvious by Nevett’s flinching that the sound aggravated him, and that was enjoyable. Then the Aubusson rug muffled Jude’s steps, and Nevett’s color subsided.
    Jude didn’t know why Nevett allowed anything to irritate him. He was wealthy, he was powerful, he was, at sixty, as healthy as a stallion, and he had all the comforts those three enviable traits allowed. The drawing chamber had been designed to Nevett’s own specifications, built to convey a sense of hushed importance and decorated in shades of maroon and gold. A branch of candles lit the gloom of the rainy day. A coal stove in one corner radiated heat, and a crackling fire lent the room atmosphere. His leather armchair was the largest, the deepest, and the most comfortable. Placed at the center of a grouping of seats, it clearly displayed Nevett’s importance for any visitor who might be in doubt. A carved teak Oriental screen hid the alcove that housed his father’s desk—a new addition, and one that surprised Jude since his father had forcefully expressed his scorn for the fad for Asian furniture.
    Stopping a short distance away from his father, Jude bowed. “You sent for me, sir?”
    His father visibly braced himself for the first, horrific vision of his oldest son. Lifting his gaze, he considered Jude for only a moment before closing his eyes in pain.
    Jude couldn’t lie; he enjoyed sticking needles into the old man, so in an affected tone, he said, “Don’t you adore it? It’s the newest color from France. It’s called sunrise, and I’m the first to use it on a waistcoat. You can imagine the attention I attracted on my way over here!”
    “I can indeed.” With a weary rustle, Nevett lowered his paper into his lap. “It is very yellow.”
    “With a mere tinge of orange.” Jude kissed his fingertips and tossed the kiss into the air. “So stylish I know I shall single-handedly lead London society away from this dull obsession with black and white.”
    Nevett looked down at his own staid black-and-white garments. “I wouldn’t count on that.” He indicated the seat opposite. “Sit. I want to talk to you.”
    Jude minced to the burgundy velvet straight-backed chair and drifted down until the base of his spine struck the seat. He crossed his legs, placed both hands on the knob of his walking stick, swung one foot.
    The room smelled of cigars, leather, and wool, exactly as it had during the twenty-nine years of Jude’s life. The scent itself recalled stern lectures, given to