My Fair Duchess (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book 1) by Julie Johnstone Page A

the rest tumbled in careless waves over her shoulders. She may look like a boy in her brown riding habit buttoned to her chin―it did nothing at all to stir a man’s lust―but one look at her hair would ignite a man’s passion. And to touch the silk tresses and let them run between his fingers―
    He ruthlessly shoved the thought away. “Are you ready?” His voice was husky to his own ears.
    She nodded, her gaze finding his under her lashes. “Is this any better?” she said, indicating her hair with her hand.
    By God, it was more than better. It was a phenomenal difference. It made him consider what she would look like with the right clothing and the knowledge of how to truly comport herself to capture a man’s attention, if she didn’t already know. Perhaps this was all a game.
    “It’s lovely,” he said. If he said anything more his tone would give away the absurd effect her transformation had on him.
    Within moments, Lady Amelia was riding off in his coach, and as the coach rounded the bend and disappeared out of sight, he realized he had stood there like a green boy and watched her leave. He’d not observed a woman leave his presence in years. He was always the one to go. Yet, here he was, and though Lady Amelia was gone, he could call up a perfect picture of her in his mind. Odd, that. Particularly since he could not even remember what color Diana’s eyes were and he’d slept with her less than a week ago. But Lady Amelia’s eyes a man could never forget―luminous, striking as the prettiest bluebell flower he’d ever picked, and enchantingly slanted with sooty lashes he suspected veiled as many secrets as he himself hid. Except he doubted her secrets were near as vile as his were.
    Pulling his thoughts away from Lady Amelia’s lovely eyes, he made his way to the house to rouse her brother. There was no time like now to set Harthorne straight on the true nature of women and exactly how carefully he should chose a bride if he insisted on doing so.
    As Colin passed the dining room, a groan came from within that he recognized as Harthorne’s. His friend likely felt bloody awful this morning. Colin pushed through the dining room door and smiled at the sight of Harthorne sitting in a high-backed chair with his head tilted back and his eyes closed, dressed in the exact same clothes he’d worn the night before, right down to his scuffed Hessians.
    “By the rumpled picture you present, I feel certain I don’t need to be concerned about my lack of cravat when we break our fast.”
    Harthorne opened one eye and slowly, as if the action took tremendous effort, shook his head. “Your time would be better spent worrying about when and if my mother is going to drag herself from bed. Unless we can find Amelia, though I already tried.”
    “Your sister left moments ago for a picnic.”
    Harthorne groaned again, much louder than before. “My stomach does not like me at this moment, Aversley. Say a prayer that my mother rouses soon.”
    Colin frowned. “What does that have to do with breaking our fast? Does your mother insist we wait on her?”
    “Something like that,” Harthorne answered and rose slowly to a wobbly stance. “I think I’ll go lie down until Mother is up, if you don’t mind. There is a thunderstorm going on in my head.”
    “Actually,” Colin said, “I’d like to talk to you for a moment.” He preferred to have this conversation alone, so this was the perfect opportunity.
    “What is it?” Harthorne asked, plopping back into the chair and burying his head in his hands.
    “I think you need to be much more selective in choosing the next lady you propose to, assuming you are going to seek another bride.”
    Harthorne raised his head enough to glance at Colin. “I was hoping Lady Mary would change her mind about not wanting to marry me.”
    Colin snorted. “This is exactly why you need to listen to me.”
    “Says the man who has never for one second in his life contemplated