One Night with the Duke (Belmore Square #1) Read Online Jodi Ellen Malpas

Categories Genre: Historical Fiction, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Belmore Square Series by Jodi Ellen Malpas
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Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
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‘Miss Melrose?’ he says, and I blink, my glass still resting on my lip. I look down at it feeling my forehead wrinkling.

‘My apologies, my lord,’ I say. ‘I was caught in a daydream.’

‘And may I ask what you were daydreaming about?’

The Duke.

How I wish he had kissed me. Would I have liked it? Would he? God, would I know how to? I expect ladies such as Lady Dare titillate to their heart’s content.

How… delightful.

And yet the Duke ignored her late-night call. One could assume he is not a man easily manipulated, or, indeed, led by a ferocious sexual appetite, but I have heard the rumours, and now I have met the man. The Duke is a rake. An intense, handsome rake, and while his focus was set solely on me in the bookstore, I could not control my overwhelming curiosity. If he were to kiss me…

I jump, knocking my knee on the underside of the table, and the flash of pain jars me from the inappropriate direction of my thoughts. My interest in the Duke is merely professional, for he has been wronged by society. And the letter, who was it from? And the book, why would he give it to me? And the note? Just imagine…

The Duke is a conundrum. A puzzle.

And I want to solve him.

When the clock strikes midnight, it would be fair to say that my father, mother and half of Belmore Square who are seated around the grand table of our dining room are as drunk as sailors. Even Frederick is somewhat, and very annoyingly, I might add, tipsy. He looks less uncomfortable now, but his cheeks a not-so-fetching shade of crimson. Alcohol may be aiding.

I watch as Papa rises from his chair and invites the gentlemen into his study. Lymington rises too, struggling with his stick while holding the table, the whole process quite messy. I hear the thud of something hit the rug and push out of my chair, looking beneath the table.

‘Eliza?’

I shoot up and find Frederick frowning down at me, and I wave him off, remembering that I have somewhere else I want to be, and I’ll get there a lot sooner if everyone’s attention is elsewhere. The men retire to Papa’s study to drink, smoke and discuss business, and the ladies get deeper into conversation, or, more likely, gossip. I choose my moment carefully and leave the table to ready myself for the dark and cold, draping my cloak around my shoulders. When I reach the top of the stairs, I see my escape is blocked by Dalton, and with only a moment’s thought, I go back to my bedroom and shove the window open, poking my head out. I smile when I see the drainpipe. It’s been too long.

Checking the coast is clear, I get up onto the ledge and stretch my arm, grabbing the iron and easing myself out, reaching to pull the window down into place, but not all the way. I shimmy down with relative ease – clearly I haven’t lost my touch after years of practice climbing trees in the countryside – and point a toe to reach the wall, pushing myself away from the pipe and finding my balance. I exhale and hop down to the cobbles. The wind whistles, gusting, whipping my cloak around my legs. It is less than appealing to be exposed to such unkind weather, but it would seem my infinite curiosity refuses to allow me respite from both that and the elements.

Cutting through the gardens, my pace measured but not rushed, the closer I come to his house, the greater the swirl of anticipation inside of me. How gladly I take this joyful reprieve from the trials of life as a supposed lady.

Before the Duke’s impressive abode, I open the gate slowly, so as not to make it creak too loudly, and approach the door, my eyes set on the remarkable lion on the knocker. I take it and thwack twice. Not once, for I would hate him to believe me to be Lady Dare again and therefore ignore the call. Or perhaps tonight he would not ignore it. Perhaps tonight he would be in the mood for…

What?

I bite my lip and step back, and with each silent second that passes, my anticipation lessens. How unfortunate. He is not home. My shoulders lax, my disappointment unstoppable, I walk away and reach the gate, but freeze when I hear the door opening. Short was the time with absent anticipation. It is back, more powerful than before. Unwilling to allow a repeat of my previous visit when I dawdled somewhat terribly, I whirl round fast, eager to capture even just a glimpse of the infamous Duke again.

‘Oh,’ I breathe, finding not the Duke, but a manservant instead.

‘His Grace wishes to see you.’



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