Duke Herheart Final by Olivia Ritch Page B

efforts?”
    “And Ellie’s…” she teased. “You know. I didn’t mean to be fishing for compliments. It’s just that…”
    “Fishing for compliments? An interesting past-time fishing?” A dark brow rose, his eyes teased her.
    “It’s a figure of speech…baiting you to tell me I look nice. Surely you recognize it from the young ladies at balls when they flutter their fans at you and look expectantly up at you to make some kind of comment about their gowns and tell them they look lovely ?”
    “Indeed?” He gave her a look of mock innocence.
    “Oh you, you’re looking at me like I am a dummy. You knew that all along.”
    “Yes, Miss Ragland, I think there has been compliment fishing since the beginning of time or the beginning of real fishing at least. But, as you say, I guess the ‘misses’ rather do fish a lot.” He laughed at the vision because he was certain she was right. It was a lovely image, especially if one considered a hook in the mouth of some of the more simpering misses. He of course was fully aware of the expression; he just loved to make her explain it to him as if her education and experience were superior to his. She was a wonderful sparring partner for his simple jests.
    “And here I thought it only a man’s past-time.”
    “Fishing is most definitely a practiced art form. But, you know, I like the real kind with hooks too.”
    “You fish?” He could not be sure he had accurately heard this latest figure of speech. He had also not quite calmed from the overwhelming sensation of her small form slamming into his body, pressing her charms into his chest, the charms that were so amply revealed by the low cut neckline and supportive bodice of the simple muslin.
    “Oh yes, the old fashioned kind that’s done with a bamboo pole and crickets or worms where you sit on the side of the family cow pond in the hour just before sunset. I could actually fish almost anywhere with any kind of gear…for hours. It is so relaxing and one of the few times I really am able to be quiet and patient and whoever I’m with has to be 38

    Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch

    quiet too.”
    He had been guiding her down the stairs and now that they were walking abreast with her hand resting on his arm, Michael regarded her hair piled in ringlets as the image of a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. His guest’s freckles glinted ever so slightly, less he was sure than before, and the most radiant smile had softened her face. Michael knew he could bask for hours in her warm glow. Michael drew a breath and found once again that scent of earthy woman but could no longer make out the tropical flavor from before. It must have been bathed away and he was oddly saddened by the cleanliness of his family’s regular soap that had diminished some of the flavors of her tantalizing smell.
    How had she described it? The hour before sunset and the cow pond? He could not even register that this vexing American stranger knew his most favorite spot. The smell of cow, raw and dirty, dark descending, anticipation, then capture. Exhilaration, relaxation. She knew what it meant to fish. Michael could imagine Kathryn sitting on the bank of the quiet river with a pole lazily dropped into the depths, her fine legs encased in men’s breeches while her burnished skin freckled further in the sun. Heat stirred in his belly at the thought of joining her there, of her utter perfection at that moment, for what man could resist a woman who adored fishing? The vitality and life of the woman on his arm gripped him and she was in his house, under his roof. Immediately, he recognized the latest wrinkle in his rescue plans.
    “Miss Ragland, as you undoubtedly know, English society is very strict about ladies staying as guests in the homes of gentlemen.
    Fortunately, our current circumstance is being remedied as we speak. I have sent a note to my Aunt Agatha asking her to join us immediately.
    For the short term, you will be chaperoned by