The Duchess of Love Read Free

me?”
    â€œGood God, no. I’ve just ridden two days to get to this godforsaken place. I intend to rest—and see if the house has something more sustaining than ale in its cellars. But you go ahead. Youth is full of energy.” He tossed him some bread. “Here. We can’t have you expiring in the fields somewhere.”
    Drew caught the bread in one hand. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
    Nigel snorted. “Hopefully you’ll be thinking more rationally then.”
    Drew grinned and let himself out onto the terrace, taking the stairs down to the gardens. He followed one of the manicured paths away from the house. It was hot in the sun; he’d left his hat on the table in the entry. He should go back.
    But it felt good to stretch his legs. He’d walk as far as the woods. He popped the rest of the bread into his mouth and lengthened his stride.
    Nigel was likely right—pretending he wasn’t the duke was a dunderheaded idea, but damn, he wished he could do it. It might be different if he’d been born to the title, but he’d become Greycliffe courtesy of an early morning fire at one of London’s most exclusive gambling hells. His uncle—the fourth duke—his uncle’s two sons, and his father had all died in the flames.
    He frowned. He’d never forget when word of his sudden elevation spread through Eton. Boys who’d looked straight through him the day before suddenly fawned all over him. Bah. At least it was practice for when he got older and went up to Town. The toadying there was beyond nauseating, and the London women were worse than the men. Whores, actresses, widows, debutantes—they all wanted to get their hands on his purse and, if they could manage it, their name with his on a marriage license.
    He was almost at the trees now. Was that barking he heard? And splashing? He grinned. He was hot and sticky. He’d wade into the water and wash the dirt of the road off. He started untying his neck cloth as he followed a narrow path down through the dense pine trees.
    Ah, there was a large rock to the side of the path. He sat down to jerk off his boots as likely many men before him had. He could just see the pond through the tree branches; he didn’t yet see the dog, but it sounded as if it was having a wonderful time. He couldn’t wait to join it.
    He shed his coat, shirt, breeches, and drawers quickly and stepped to the edge of the woods. Now he saw the dog, a brown and white mix that was obviously part water spaniel, running back and forth on the bank, barking up at—
    He jumped back behind a tree trunk.
    The girl hadn’t seen him. She was standing on a large rock on the other side of the pond, looking down at the water about ten feet below her, clad in only her shift. Her long chestnut brown hair fell in waves to her waist, hiding her face.
    She’d best take care or she would fall.
    Concern tightened his gut. She didn’t intend to jump, did she? He should stop her, but catching sight of a strange, naked man coming out of the woods might well frighten her into losing her balance. What should—
    Bloody hell.
    The girl was pulling off her shift.
    His jaw dropped as another part of him sprang up. His eyes followed the cloth up her body past the well-turned ankles; the long, pale thighs; the lovely nest of curls, so dark against the white of her belly and hips; and the slim, curved waist to stop at the two small, round, perfect breasts almost hidden by her hair.
    The pond water had better be ice cold or he’d never get his breeches back on.
    She turned to throw the shift behind her, and he got a glimpse of her lovely, rounded arse.
    Zounds, he was going to die of lust.
    And then she turned back and wobbled. Her arms flew out—Good God! She was falling.
    He sprinted for the pond, hitting the water at the same time the girl did.

Chapter 2
    Venus managed to right herself as she fell so she went into the pond