A Night With the Bride Read Online Free Page A

correctly?
    “You are suggesting I assault the Duke of Somerset,” she said flatly. “A touch extreme, wouldn’t you say? And illegal, let’s not forget that.”
    “I’m not a man for subtlety. Few men are, I find.”
    “Yes,” she said. “I’m getting that sense.”
    Gabriella deflated a little. If slapping the Duke of Somerset was James’s only advice, then she was doomed.
    “You don’t think slapping the duke won’t, I don’t know, anger him profusely?”
    The whole idea was preposterous. Worse, she was actually considering his suggestion as a legitimate option. This was the trouble with sheer desperation. It made even the most horrid ideas seem brilliant.
    “A French woman slapped me once.” His gaze turned distant and nostalgic. “There is nothing more alluring than a scornful, slightly insane woman wearing nothing but silk stockings and a top hat.”
    “I…haven’t the faintest idea how to respond to that.”
    He glanced at the timepiece on the mantel. “Oh, dear God, is that the time? I’m late for brandy in the study with…well, it’s no matter.” He pushed back his chair and stood, throwing his crisp white napkin on the table. “Slap the man, and he’s yours for the taking, mark my words. I am never wrong about such things.”
    With that, he was gone, leaving her alone to mull over his ridiculous, oddly brilliant plan. No, not brilliant. What was she thinking? She could not, would not, slap a duke of the realm—tempting as it was. It wasn’t even worth considering. She would have to find some other way to get his attention.
    Just as she was slathering butter on her toast, someone slid into the empty chair beside her. The solid frame and spicy male scent could only belong to one person.
    Somerset.
    Did the man have no sense of self-preservation?
    After the way he’d snapped at her last night, he was fortunate she didn’t spear him with her butter knife. Though one could not rule such things out entirely. The morning was still young.
    Gabriella glanced at him. “Oh, look who it is. The Duke of Mean…ness.” She winced at her own bungled insult. There was just something about this man that threw her completely off kilter. Perhaps it was his stern, calculating stare or his smooth, enigmatic charm. Whatever it was, it scrambled her thinking and set her pulse racing.
    He stirred a spoonful of sugar into his coffee. “You will forgive me for last night.”
    “I don’t see why I should. First, you used me like a human abacus, then erupted into anger—at me—in front of everyone.”
    “You have my sincerest apologies,” he said. When she didn’t look at him, he hooked one finger beneath her chin and tilted it up. “I am in earnest. I wasn’t myself. Please forgive me.”
    Despite herself, her resolve melted at the sincerity in his voice. She believed he was sorry, but that still didn’t make it right. “I’ll think about forgiving you, if you tell me what caused you to lose your countenance. What were you doing?”
    A male servant she didn’t recognize slid a plate in front of Somerset. The food was arranged carefully, in precise triangles on the plate, none of it touching. How very tidy.
    “Thank you, Larson.”
    As the man moved away, Gabriella asked, “Who is that?”
    Somerset tucked into his eggs, careful not to disturb the other items on his plate. “My valet.”
    “Your valet serves you breakfast?”
    Was there anything conventional about this man?
    “I like the way he arranges the plate. He’s the only one who can do it just so. Even I cannot manage it.”
    She watched him curiously as he ate, seeming to count the number of times he chewed each bite. He didn’t notice her scrutiny, or if he did, he made no show of it. “What were you doing last night when I approached you?”
    He set down his fork and stared at her intensely. “I apologized, Miss Weatherfield, and that’s where my courtesy ends. Do not pry into matters that do not concern you.”
    A sensitive