The Third Duke's the Charm Read Online Free Page B

been one to back away from a challenge.
    “Why not me?” he repeated, his voice softer, the question almost too poignant.
    Vivian rose then, poised, outwardly serene, but he caught the slightly panicked look in her eyes. “I own I still cannot believe you are serious, my lord.”
    He had no choice but to also stand out of politeness and watch as she walked across the room to stop in front of one of the long windows. The window faced the garden, of course. Her interest in botany was well-known, and the legacy was come by honestly. Her father was a respected scholar and scientist, famous for his work in that discipline. So was Lucien’s father, for that matter.
    He wasn’t her friend like Charles. Or anything like her father who shared a similar passion for the world of exotic plants. Or even the foppish young men who were too stupid to see beyond her intellect and court her. He was simply a man who liked the refreshing honesty of her personality, who admired her beauty, and who was somehow—and it was indefinable—
struck
by her.
    If that was not love, the definition escaped him, but at the moment what he wanted was the opportunity to find out.
    Silently he walked up behind where she stood visibly tense by the window, resisting the urge to touch her, drawn by the remoteness of her profile as she looked outside. He murmured, “Vivian.”
    She swung around, her smile at once ironic. “Why is it, Lord Stockton, by the mere way you say a woman’s name she feels special? As if you care for her. That must be an art a man has to perfect carefully and with much practice.”
    “Or,” he said with a detached smile, “he simply wishes to speak to her face-to-face and she has her back turned to him.”
    “I suppose that is logical. You are quite good at being logical, my lord.
    He refused to be baited. “Contrary to common belief, my interests are actually quite varied. And I admit an attractive female is always a pleasant distraction.”
    “You find me attractive?” One very delectable brow went upward in open question.
    A question he answered honestly.
    “Oh, yes.”
    She blushed again. It was more vivid than the first time and he found it unexpectedly enchanting, though he’d always diligently avoided virgins. His usual bed partners had forgotten how to blush at least a decade ago.
    Despite her pink cheeks her gaze was very direct, holding his, her shapely chin lifting a notch. “Charles claims that you developed a new type of apple tree. By some method in which you carefully attached part of one branch by splicing it onto another so it grew together. Is it true? I’ve heard of it, but never seen it done.”
    A small laugh escaped at the unexpected change in subject. Apparently if he were a talented botanist he might hold her attention. “I should have known that if I were to inspire any kind of admiration, it would not be for my smile or charming ways, but for my skill as a farmer. Yes, it’s true. A technique one of the gardeners showed me as a youth. He bred new roses by grafting a branch of one color onto another bush. Later I experimented a bit myself and then wondered what would happen if the same technique was used on fruit trees.”
    “And it worked?”
    “I can modestly say it did, but can we please get back to the original subject of our conversation?”
    Apparently marriage was much less fascinating than botanical pursuits, for the animation faded from her features. Her lashes lowered a fraction. “I do not see how my father will allow me to do anything other than agree, my lord, so if you are sincere in the offer, my answer is yes.”
    That was not exactly the enthusiastic reply he envisioned, but it was a small victory. Ironic as it was, for all the women he knew coveted his fortune, or were dazzled by his looks—neither of which really said anything about him as a man—he had to want the single female of his acquaintance who cared nothing about either one.
    He could seduce her . . . the idea