Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness: The Baxendale Sisters Book 3 Read Online Free Page A

There were always those seeking to improve their lot. He hoped she would think better of it before he was forced to prove her ridiculous claim to be false. He hesitated. What could she hope to gain by such a ruse? He wanted no complications, no attachments. Was the world conspiring against him?
    ****
    The French duke was in London. Hope fought to slow her breath. He remembered her, of that she was sure. She hoped it was favorable and he was not recalling how awkward she’d been in Paris. His slow appraisal from her head downward quite made her toes curl. For a moment, their gazes locked and something lingered in the air between them. Hope was sure of it. But then he’d turned away as if dismissing her very existence. Of course, he wasn’t interested in her. He considered her a green girl. She would bore him. Annoyed, she shut her fan with a snap. Well, she did not want him . To leave her family and live in France was unthinkable. And he obviously had no such intention. She watched his broad shoulders as he disappeared from the ballroom. If they met again, she would take care to show him what he would miss!

Chapter Three

    The young woman shown into his rooms at Reddish’s Hotel looked different today. The servant’s attire gone, she wore her simple clothes, with a proud, ladylike air. Her lively black eyes challenged him, her hair as dark as his. Again, something stirred within him, some tiny recognition, which perplexed him, and he softened his stance toward her. He’d been about to send her packing.
    “Please sit, mademoiselle. May I offer you tea or wine?”
    “Coffee, thank you.” She sat on one of the brocade-covered chairs by the fire.
    Daniel signaled to his servant and took the seat beside her. He tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. “Now, your story, if you please. I promise to listen.”
    “I am exceedingly grateful, Your Grace.”
    Ignoring the trace of mockery in her tone, Daniel sat back and folded his arms.
    “My mother’s father was a member of the clergy,” she began. “Mother was only seventeen when she met your father.” She paused. He supposed his face betrayed his doubt. The social divide would have been impossible to cross. “It was after your father’s carriage lost a wheel on the road north,” she explained. “My grandfather, who was traveling with his family, came to the duke’s rescue, and they subsequently put up at the same inn. After that, your father pursued my mother with the intention of taking her as his mistress. But when my grandfather resisted, your father married her.”
    Mon dieu! No doubt a complete fabrication. With a sigh, Daniel prepared to pull her declaration to pieces. “And where might this marriage have taken place?”
    Her eyes narrowed slightly. She dug into her reticule and extracted some papers, holding them out to him. “They were married in London by special license.”
    He took the documents and scanned them, checking for a flaw that proclaimed them to be forgeries. “Why wouldn’t my father have kept hold of these?”
    “I suspect the Lesters wished to keep proof of my birth to ensure the payments continued.”
    Ludicrous.
    “Although my adopted father was a farmer, we never went without, and I received a good education. I believe the recompense ended when the duke died.”
    He would consult the family solicitor. “And where was I during all this, I wonder?”
    “Away at school, I believe.”
    The date on the marriage certificate certainly fitted. He’d gone away to boarding school when he was eight years old, and according to this, Mary Cunliffe had married his father later that same year. Daniel hadn’t returned home for even a holiday until he was twelve. He raised his head to look at her but couldn’t detect any sign that she lied. In fact, she merely jutted out her chin. “Odd that my father neglected to mention this marriage.”
    She met his gaze levelly. “I suppose he had his reasons, but I assure you they were married. My