My American Duchess by Eloisa James

thought Cedric had had the worse end of the bargain, because their mother’s constant fretting over his status as a second son ensured he never forgot it.
    Merry apparently didn’t agree. She started embroidering on the theme of mothers, but Trent wasn’t listening. She had the ripest pair of lips he’d ever seen.
    He’d like to kiss her until they looked bee-stung, the lips of a woman who had been bedded hard and furiously, who had—
    Bloody hell. He had to take hold of himself.
    “Your Grace?” the lips asked.
    “I beg your pardon, Miss Pelford. I lost track of the conversation.”
    A look of distinct sympathy came into Merry’s eyes. “I’m so sorry! Of course, your mother must pose a difficult subject for conversation. I should have been more sensitive.”
    He could have explained that he didn’t give a damn about his mother and hadn’t since the tender age of eight, which was when he fully understood his place in the hierarchy of her affections.
    But there was no real point. “Yes, well, you can see why I’ve decided that I’d prefer my wife to wear a different ring,” he said briskly, releasing her hand.
    Just as they had the night before, they gazed down at the diamonds gracing her slender finger.
    “I don’t know,” Merry said hesitantly.
    He couldn’t stop himself; he ran his fingers lightly down the back of her hand until they reached the ring. “It belongs to you. It fits perfectly.” He felt the rightness of it deep in his gut.
    Their eyes met, and he noticed with a pulse of surprise that hers were gray, but with a circle of violet at the very edge. He’d never seen eyes like that.
    She licked her bottom lip and Trent froze. He couldn’t kiss her. Just because he was standing so close that he could smell her skin, and she had his ring on her finger, and she was looking at him with confusion but not denial . . .
    Shit.
    He had almost kissed his brother’s fiancée. Again.
    “Right,” he said, taking a step back. “That’s settled, then. You are once again in possession of the ring.”
    Merry turned her head away quickly but he saw a rosy flush in her cheeks.
    No. He was mistaken.
    She loved Cedric. She’d told him so several times the night before, and Merry was not a liar.
    Trent cleared his throat. “I must be off. But—” The words stuck in his throat, but he forced them out. “I just wish you to know that I’m very glad that you will be my sister-in-law. I believe you will make a splendid wife for my brother.”
    “Thank you,” Merry said slowly.
    “I’m sure that Cedric will curtail his drinking once you are married. My comments last night were inappropriate, and I apologize.”
    “Your Grace, I’d like you to consider that your worry is unwarranted. Lord Cedric mentioned at some point that you dislike both wine and spirits, and I am sure that you are very prudent in your behavior.”
    “Not always,” Trent said wryly, thinking that he was a fool to have visited her.
    “Most young men are not abstemious, but that does not mean they drink to excess.”
    “I am aware of that,” Trent said. He didn’t know what else to say. She’d have to see it herself.
    “Cedric, for example, is a consummate gentleman.” A trace of defiance edged her voice. “As I told you, I’ve never seen him even the least tipsy.”
    No one had ever come to Trent’s defense the way Merry was coming to Cedric’s. Not that Trent had the faintest need for protection.
    But Merry belonged to his brother, and she would make certain that Cedric didn’t harm himself while in his cups. Trent had known her less than a day, and he could say that with absolute certainty.
    She was the best possible wife for his brother.
    He forced himself to smile and bowed again. “I am leaving London for some weeks, Miss Pelford, but I shall look forward to seeing you and your family again upon my return.”
    Just then, Mrs. Pelford trotted back into the room. It seemed the poetess could not find her