The Duchess of Love Read Free Page B

head.”
    â€œI told you I didn’t.” He certainly wasn’t a servant or a farmer or a laborer. He had the tone and diction of a nobleman, but noblemen didn’t come to Little Huffington, unless …
    Oh, dear.
    â€œYou aren’t with the Duke of Greycliffe, are you?”
    A faint flush colored his cheeks. “Ah, yes. I, er, am.”
    The duke was here already? She hadn’t yet formulated a plan to bring him and Ditee together. “But you aren’t supposed to arrive until next week.”
    He shrugged. “We came early.”
    She was distracted by the movement of his shoulders. Well, not the movement so much as the shoulders themselves. They were very broad; surely too broad to fit into a proper coat. Blond hair dusted his chest; muscles shaped his arms. He was strong; she remembered that clearly from his grasp in the water.
    â€œLike what you see?” he asked. His tone had changed. Instead of concern, it held heat.
    â€œWhat?” Her eyes flew back to his face. His gaze had dropped to examine …
    â€œAck!” She slapped her hands over her breasts. “Don’t look.”
    The right corner of his mouth turned up—Lord save her, he had a dimple. “ You were looking.”
    â€œI was not.”
    He grinned—he had two dimples. “Liar.”
    Oh, the man was clearly a rake of the worst sort. She should shove him away, but then she’d have to take her hands off her breasts. She jerked her chin instead. “Move back.”
    â€œIs that any way to thank your rescuer?” he asked, but he moved back. “I expected a kiss.”
    â€œYou deserve a slap—and close your eyes. You didn’t rescue me; you almost killed me.”
    He frowned, but he did close his eyes. “You were drowning.”
    â€œNot until you grabbed me. I’ll have you know I’ve been swimming in this pond since I was a girl.” She scrambled to her feet. His shoulders and arms could have been stolen from a Greek statue. They certainly were as hard as marble, but they weren’t cold. They were warm—very, very warm.
    He cracked open one eye. “Am I getting my kiss, then?”
    â€œNo!” Where had her wits got to? She sprinted for the nearest tree. Fortunately its trunk was sufficiently thick to serve as a shield. Once she was safely concealed, she peered around the edge. The man was still kneeling in the grass, but Archie had come up to him, blocking her view of his lower parts.
    Which was a good thing, of course.
    The fellow was scratching Archie’s ears, and Archie was licking the man’s face.
    Who was he? He couldn’t be the duke; dukes didn’t go about naked like this. They were far too grand. He must be the duke’s cousin, Mr. Valentine.
    An insect of some sort decided to take a stroll on her bare backside. She jumped and swatted it away. Good God. Here she was, naked as well. She needed to get dressed immediately, but her clothes weren’t within reach, and she was not about to expose herself to Mr. Valentine’s interested eyes again. Her interested eyes, however …
    â€œMr. Valentine.”
    The man kept patting Archie. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her. She spoke louder.
    â€œMr. Valentine!”
    His head snapped up then, and he gave her an odd look.
    What was the matter? She glanced down. No, she was still completely concealed. Perhaps he was just not terribly bright. A pity, but often the most beautiful people were the thickest—which was another reason Aphrodite was such a prize.
    She looked at him again. “Fetch my clothes, Mr. Valentine, if you will.”
    He stared at her a moment longer—was he going to refuse to do her bidding? No, now he was smiling and standing, putting all his male glory on display.
    â€œWhere are they?”
    â€œUh.” He did look like a Greek statue, all hard planes and chiseled muscles. The blond hair dusting his chest continued down