Daisy and the Duke Read Online Free

retainer returned to fetch her.
    The man looked down his nose. Or so it seemed to Daisy. “He will see you now.”

Chapter Ten
    Daisy followed her escort along one hallway and then another. To call this place a house was a misnomer.
Castle
was the more correct term. It was surely next to impossible to adequately heat the enormous chambers with their vaulted ceilings and stone floors.
    Finally, the butler halted in front of a set of double doors. Grasping both knobs and pulling them open with ceremony, he stepped aside and spoke to someone beyond Daisy’s line of sight. “Ms. Daisy Wexler to see you, Your Grace.”
    Again, her knees trembled. Glancing at the servant beside her, she found neither sympathy nor assistance in his blank gaze. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she entered the room.
    For a moment, awe overtook her. The chamber in which she found herself was like something out of a movie. Enormous mullioned windows shone in the afternoon sun. Though the glass was immaculate, millions of dust motes danced in the beams of light, no doubt courtesy of the heavy gold-brocade and crimson-velvet draperies that flanked the wavy antique panes.
    A priceless Oriental rug, faded but lovely, lay on the floor beneath her feet, adding to the impression of old money and exquisite taste. As a librarian, she couldn’t help but also be impressed by the walls of bookcases, laden with leather-bound volumes.
    But before she could do more than glance at them, something else, or rather some
one
, caught her eye.
    The man had his back to her, his gaze trained on the view beyond the curved bank of windows. Standing behind an impressive antique desk, the silent figure projected an air of absolute authority. Suppressing an insane desire to curtsey, Daisy moved into the room, hoping to see him more clearly. Framed as he was in the alcove, the sun blinded her.
    As she walked toward him, expecting him to speak at any moment, she took stock of her host. He wore a navy suit, obviously hand tailored to fit his broad-shouldered, lanky frame. Dark brown hair showed evidence of dampness, as if he had showered recently. The faint, pleasant scent of aftershave lingered in the air.
    Her toes curled in her canvas espadrilles. Curiosity and anticipation warred with nervousness in her stomach. “Thank you for meeting with me,” she said quietly. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if I may.”
    “Be seated.” The words were low and terse, barely audible.
    Feeling like a recalcitrant schoolgirl, she glanced at the choice of seats on her left and right before deciding on a Louis XIV needlepoint chair. Unfortunately, it was more impressive than comfortable. She squirmed to settle herself, set her tote on the floor and took out a pad and pen. Laying them on the edge of the highly polished escritoire, she sat back and folded her hands in her lap.
    The silence lengthened and deepened. “Your Grace?”
    Perhaps her verbal prompt was considered a social faux pas, because those wide, impressive shoulders stiffened. “Patience is not really an American virtue, is it?” he said, the syllables curt and aristocratic.
    Something about that gravelly but cultured voice raked across Daisy’s nerves like a kitten’s claw on silk. She swallowed hard, unable to speak.
    Finally, the duke turned around to face her. Daisy’s breathing stumbled. “You?” she cried. “You’re the duke?”

Chapter Eleven
    The man stood with one hand in his pants pocket, the other resting on the back of a carved chair. His fingers were long and masculine. He was cool, collected and remote. Neither a smile nor any sign of recognition marked his expressionless face. No indication at all that just minutes before he had coaxed her into breathless intimacy on a hilltop.
    “I
am
,” he said. “Ian Furchess. We don’t stand much on ceremony these days, so you may call me Ian. Tell me, Ms. Wexler, what brings you to the Lake District?”
    Her mouth hung open. Did he seriously think