The Duke’s Desire Read Free

wanted this child to like him, although he couldn’t say why.
    “You might get your clothes messy.”
    Galen suspected this warning had been given to her many times. “I am willing to accept the consequences,” he declared bravely.
    He was rewarded with a smile before the girl put the ball on the ground. While Galen wondered if her bountiful curls were natural, she suddenly—and without a word of warning—kicked the ball directly at him.
    With a dexterous leap, he eluded it, then scrambled to catch the ball with his foot. He kicked it back toward Jocelyn while he crouched down in anticipation of the next kick, regardless of the crease of his trousers or what his valet might say.
    The little girl was fast, and soon had the ball between her feet. In another instant, it came flying along the ground toward Galen, who threw out his leg in a wild and foolish attempt to stop it.
    With a roar of dismay and not a little pain, he fell to the ground.
    “Are you hurt?” Jocelyn cried worriedly.
    “No,” Galen muttered as he grabbed the ball and got back on his feet as fast as his thirty-year-old legs and one slightly pulled muscle would let him.
    He held the ball out, dropped it and caught it midair with a kick. With a bleat like a lamb, she was after it and Galen took a moment to brush bits of greenery from his trousers.
    At the sound of a foot colliding with the ball, he looked up, then dashed across the open space to intercept. He gave a cry of triumph as he returned the ball without having to bring the rolling object to a complete stop.
    The child ran the other way to catch it, but before she could, it disappeared under a particularly bushy shrub. Bending over, she peered under it. “I can’t see where it went!”
    Galen hurried to help her look for it.
    They were both bent over and scanning the thick trunks and branches of the smoothly pruned bushes when they heard a woman calling Jocelyn’s name.
    His companion straightened. “That’s my mama. It must be time for tea.” She glanced worriedly at the bushes that had apparently swallowed up her toy. “She’ll be upset if I’ve lost my ball.”
    “Then I shall stay and look for it,” Galen offered. “I’m sure it can’t be far—although I did give it a prodigious kick.”
    “It was a crocked kick, or I would have caught it,” Jocelyn declared.
    “It went exactly where I meant it to go. Or rather, in the right direction,” Galen replied defensively.
    Jocelyn’s expression betrayed her dubiousness. “You wanted it to disappear in the bushes?”
    “No, of course not. I was aiming for you.”
    “But I was way over there!”
    “Well…” Galen had to laugh. “Very well, my aim was off—but you were moving in this direction, weren’t you?”
    “Jocelyn?”
    Galen and his little friend both turned to find a young woman looking at them quizzically.
    Verity Escombe .
    At the sight of her instantly recognized face, a host of emotions shot through Galen—of joy, dismay, anger and excitement.
    He took a step forward, then caught himself.
    He had never wanted to see her again. During these past ten years, he had hoped he would never see her again. Good God, why did he have to see her again?
    It had been ten years, yet Verity Escombe was much the same, with those questioning blue eyes that her daughter had inherited and her lips parted as if about to ask a question, or in anticipation of his kiss.
    He noted her gown of plain black, with a high waist in the fashion of the day. A thin black lace shawl covered her slender shoulders. Her light brown hair was simply and plainly dressed, and she wore no gloves.
    He looked at her left hand and saw the wedding ring.
    “Mama, this is the Duke of Deighton,” Jocelyn announced, hurrying forward and taking her mother by the hand to lead her toward him. “We’ve been playing.”
    He glanced at the child. No matter how he felt about Verity, he wouldn’t hurt her little girl by being rude, so he bowed elegantly and spoke