The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [35]
Olivia snorted, but thought it best not to comment. “Just look how excited Lucy is to see you.”
Norah reached down and pulled Lucy’s long ears. “She is ugly, but there’s something very taking about her all the same.”
“Do you think she’s trying to tell you something with all that hand licking?” Olivia asked.
“She can smell bacon on my hands. I helped clear the breakfast dishes.”
“Still, you’d better take her out before she piddles on the carpet.”
“Her Grace doesn’t like animals at all,” Norah said, moving reluctantly toward the door. “The dowager, I mean. Apparently the shape of paws makes her almost faint. Isn’t that odd? If she even sees an animal running along on its paws, she goes all queer-like.”
“Very odd,” Olivia agreed.
“And did you hear about the duke’s first wife?” Norah said, lingering by the door.
“I knew of her existence, of course, but you’ll have to tell me any details later. The last thing I want is to have to explain to the housekeeper why my bedchamber has an unfortunate smell.”
“She was no better than a trollop,” Norah stated.
“No!” It didn’t suit Olivia’s image of the duke to think of him married to a hussy.
“Terrible! A very glad eye, if you see what I mean, miss. Very glad indeed. Always out with the carriage, hither and yon, and taking no more than a groom with her.”
“That’s dreadful,” Olivia said, thinking of the duke’s closed face. No wonder he had such a bleak look about him.
“Dreadful is the word,” Norah said with emphasis. “And—”
But at that moment Lucy lost patience and piddled on the floor.
And that was the end of that particular conversation.
Nine
Introducing Lord Justin Fiebvre
As Quin allowed his valet to dress him that morning, he was happily aware that whatever madness had possessed him the previous night had been washed away by a few hours of good sleep.
Actually, more than a few hours of sleep, given that it was very nearly time for luncheon.
He felt like himself again, a man who valued reason and the intellect above all else. Obviously, he’d have to keep his distance from the nubile Miss Lytton. There was something about her that brought out his least reasonable side. He would go so far as to describe himself in the grip of a somewhat compulsive lust.
He’d even dreamed about her during the night, and it was the kind of dream he hadn’t had in years. Not since the early days of his marriage.
In his dream, he had entered a room to find Olivia, her back to him, reading a book. He had walked over to her, his entire body one fiery throb of anticipation, and without saying a word, he had bent over her, running his fingers down the side of her face, her neck . . .
As his caress swept down, he realized that she was wearing nothing more than a light wrapper. And then she turned her face up to him, smiling, and reached her arms up to pull him closer. Her dressing gown fell open and—
It was embarrassing to have dreams of that sort. Yet there was something about Miss Lytton’s smile, her hips, even the way she kept insulting him that drove his pulse to a faster rhythm.
But if a man didn’t learn from his mistakes, then he was less intelligent than any member of the animal kingdom. Even animals quickly learned to avoid a forest fire.
He turned as his valet twitched the bottom of his coat, then he regarded himself in the glass. His mother firmly believed that a duke should both look and carry himself like a member of the aristocracy at all times; it was very lucky that she had not been there to see it when he’d blundered downstairs without his coat.
His coat had been made by a Parisian tailor who had fled to London. It was dark plum and severely cut, but it had unmistakable Continental flair, with mother-of-pearl buttons and an occasional glimpse of the green silk that lined his collar and cuffs. Quin never spent much time thinking