The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) by Meara Platt
Authors: Meara Platt
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had.
She was laughing and cooing over Ivy, the love she held for that baby shining through her glorious blue eyes, even as Ivy wreaked havoc on her hair and practically tore the earring off her earlobe. Dillie hadn’t minded at all. She’d held the child so naturally, as though the squirming bundle in her arms were simply another appendage.
She would make a wonderful mother. Unlike his own.
Dillie had caught him staring at her. In truth, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. It wasn’t simply that she was beautiful. There were many beautiful young women in London, though none came close to Dillie’s spectacular allure. She had a magical, inner glow, a moon-and-stars sparkle that made him ache to take her into his arms and hold her close forever.
Of course, forever for him meant about a month, for that was the longest any sweet young thing had ever held his interest. Dillie was the exception, but only because she was forbidden fruit. Gabriel and Graelem would cut out his entrails and feed them to the carrion birds if he ever hurt Dillie.
Ian fidgeted in his chair. Gabriel and Daisy had taken over the settee, leaving him no choice but to claim the seat beside Dillie’s. He spent the next half hour forced to pretend that her soft laughter and sweet blush did not affect him. Daisy, her own blue eyes sparkling with mirth, had taken over the conversation, relating the latest scandals making their way around London. Dillie had responded with the innocent awe of a child.
He couldn’t remember ever being that innocent.
He shifted uncomfortably once more, tortured by Dillie’s nearness and his inability to touch her. He couldn’t conceive of a worse punishment... and then Daisy’s other guests arrived. By the time Lady Eloise Dayne was announced, the servants had set out an elaborate display of sweets and other refreshments to accompany the afternoon tea.
He rose as Eloise entered and greeted her warmly. She was Gabriel’s grandmother and neighbor to the Farthingales on Chipping Way. He truly liked the old dowager. She was helpful, perfectly agreeable, and a genuine delight.
Not so delightful was Eloise’s tiny companion, Lady Phoebe Withnall, the ton’s most notorious gossip. Hell. This could be bad. In truth, he liked Phoebe as well, and despite her ruthless reputation, she’d often gone easy on him. Often, but not always. The woman had ears planted in everyone’s walls, or so it seemed, for she had a way of digging up secrets that were meant to be shrouded in darkness for eternity.
Had the old bloodhound picked up the scent of his injury? And his recovery in Dillie’s bed? Dillie had assured him that she and George hadn’t mentioned the incident to anyone. He hoped it was true.
Phoebe’s beady-eyed gaze homed in on him, and her pointed nose began to twitch as she inspected him from head to elegantly booted toe. She was like a hound on the hunt, sniffing him out. “You’ve been quiet these past few months, Your Grace.”
He’d spent years fighting Napoleon’s ablest soldiers and spies, been captured a couple of times, and survived torture. He wasn’t about to make a slip under the heat of Phoebe’s questioning gaze.
Dillie would, though.
Fortunately, Phoebe’s attention was still trained on him. Her nose twitched again, a sign she was contemplating her strategy. “Where did you spend your holidays?”
He shrugged. “Quietly at Edgeware.”
“I heard you stayed in town longer than expected last season. Any reason?”
Dillie had been about to lift her teacup to her lips, but let out a soft gasp instead. “Too hot,” she hastily muttered, easing her hand off the cup, no doubt afraid she’d draw further attention to herself by spilling her tea if the conversation suddenly turned alarming.
Ian was good at hiding his thoughts. Dillie hadn’t any such talent. She’d be eeping like a demented bird the moment the old woman trained her gaze on her.
In truth, he liked those throaty
She was laughing and cooing over Ivy, the love she held for that baby shining through her glorious blue eyes, even as Ivy wreaked havoc on her hair and practically tore the earring off her earlobe. Dillie hadn’t minded at all. She’d held the child so naturally, as though the squirming bundle in her arms were simply another appendage.
She would make a wonderful mother. Unlike his own.
Dillie had caught him staring at her. In truth, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. It wasn’t simply that she was beautiful. There were many beautiful young women in London, though none came close to Dillie’s spectacular allure. She had a magical, inner glow, a moon-and-stars sparkle that made him ache to take her into his arms and hold her close forever.
Of course, forever for him meant about a month, for that was the longest any sweet young thing had ever held his interest. Dillie was the exception, but only because she was forbidden fruit. Gabriel and Graelem would cut out his entrails and feed them to the carrion birds if he ever hurt Dillie.
Ian fidgeted in his chair. Gabriel and Daisy had taken over the settee, leaving him no choice but to claim the seat beside Dillie’s. He spent the next half hour forced to pretend that her soft laughter and sweet blush did not affect him. Daisy, her own blue eyes sparkling with mirth, had taken over the conversation, relating the latest scandals making their way around London. Dillie had responded with the innocent awe of a child.
He couldn’t remember ever being that innocent.
He shifted uncomfortably once more, tortured by Dillie’s nearness and his inability to touch her. He couldn’t conceive of a worse punishment... and then Daisy’s other guests arrived. By the time Lady Eloise Dayne was announced, the servants had set out an elaborate display of sweets and other refreshments to accompany the afternoon tea.
He rose as Eloise entered and greeted her warmly. She was Gabriel’s grandmother and neighbor to the Farthingales on Chipping Way. He truly liked the old dowager. She was helpful, perfectly agreeable, and a genuine delight.
Not so delightful was Eloise’s tiny companion, Lady Phoebe Withnall, the ton’s most notorious gossip. Hell. This could be bad. In truth, he liked Phoebe as well, and despite her ruthless reputation, she’d often gone easy on him. Often, but not always. The woman had ears planted in everyone’s walls, or so it seemed, for she had a way of digging up secrets that were meant to be shrouded in darkness for eternity.
Had the old bloodhound picked up the scent of his injury? And his recovery in Dillie’s bed? Dillie had assured him that she and George hadn’t mentioned the incident to anyone. He hoped it was true.
Phoebe’s beady-eyed gaze homed in on him, and her pointed nose began to twitch as she inspected him from head to elegantly booted toe. She was like a hound on the hunt, sniffing him out. “You’ve been quiet these past few months, Your Grace.”
He’d spent years fighting Napoleon’s ablest soldiers and spies, been captured a couple of times, and survived torture. He wasn’t about to make a slip under the heat of Phoebe’s questioning gaze.
Dillie would, though.
Fortunately, Phoebe’s attention was still trained on him. Her nose twitched again, a sign she was contemplating her strategy. “Where did you spend your holidays?”
He shrugged. “Quietly at Edgeware.”
“I heard you stayed in town longer than expected last season. Any reason?”
Dillie had been about to lift her teacup to her lips, but let out a soft gasp instead. “Too hot,” she hastily muttered, easing her hand off the cup, no doubt afraid she’d draw further attention to herself by spilling her tea if the conversation suddenly turned alarming.
Ian was good at hiding his thoughts. Dillie hadn’t any such talent. She’d be eeping like a demented bird the moment the old woman trained her gaze on her.
In truth, he liked those throaty
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