Dukes By the Dozen полностью

“Don’t try to change the subject.” He glared at his friend, sitting in the only chair not piled high with books and papers. It didn’t matter. Until he was able to see the lady and resolve the issue between them, his restlessness wouldn’t allow him to sit. “The fact is, you know me. You could have offered some testament of my good character.”

“Believe me, I would have wracked my brain to come up with something positive to say about you if I’d known that’s what you wanted.”

“If you’d known? We corresponded about this five or six months ago.”

“Did we?”

“Ja. If you recall, I expressed my deep joy regarding your news. You told me you were married and your wife was expecting.”

“I remember now. Your exact response was, Good for you. I too need to be married. It’s time. Your joy positively leapt from the page.”

Bamberg didn’t recall wording it precisely that way, but it did sound like him. “And I sent another letter of congratulations, along with a case of the finest Sylvaner wine Bavaria has to offer.”

“Well, of course, I remember that.”

“And in that letter, I told you I was attending a number of functions in London and Edinburgh. That I planned to choose a wife.”

“Planned. You mentioned no name, my friend. And at that time, no one had drawn your interest,” Dermot reminded him. “I invited you to come and visit us in the Highlands.”

When Bamberg left Bavaria, he’d imagined a month or two of attending rather dull social events, meeting eager and delicate heiresses, and having occasionally uncomfortable conversations. He knew he wasn’t approaching the process with the right attitude, but he’d been tired of it before he started. All of that changed, however, the moment he’d come upon the Earl of Lindsay’s stranded carriage.

He saw her from a distance as he approached. The bows of the servants and their concerned attention told him she was a lady of rank. It wasn’t until later that he learned her name.

With the rain streaming down, she wore no cloak. No hat. No gloves. Golden ringlets of hair danced and lit the grey scene. Her hands were fisted, her stride confident. She was Athena, inspiring her heroes at Troy. She was Boadicea, rallying her fellow warriors. She was Joan of Arc, joining the battle.

Nothing attracted him more than a strong woman. One who knew her mind. One who wasn’t deterred by any foolish constraints imposed on her sex.

Lady Taylor Fleming was that woman.

He paid no attention to the milksops cowering under the tree. He went straight to her. Working beside Taylor to free the carriage, he was deeply impressed by her determination not to give up.

Bamberg’s heart melted when she fell and slipped into the ditch at her moment of victory. His compassion quickly turned to anger, however, when he saw neither man move from their place of relative comfort. When he approached to assist her, she held back for a moment, but he would have crouched there for an eternity until she took his outstretched hand.

His attempted rescue was anything but smooth. But it was hardly a disaster. Her curves filled his hands. Her voluptuous body pressed against him. In the confused clutching and grappling that ensued, he was touching places he shouldn’t have. And his body reacted. Unexpected desires flared. A moment later, she stood before him. And regardless of the mud on her face and hands and clothing, everywhere he looked, he saw beauty. Her lips were full, made to be kissed. Her eyes were blue as the morning sky above the Amazon. Her neck was uncovered, and he imagined running his lips along the delicious length of it. Her breasts strained to break free. Wicked possibilities flashed into his imagination. He thought of the two of them, rolling naked in the mud in some tropical jungle, the sweet, warm fragrance of brilliantly colored flowers surrounding them.

His body’s response to hers was as astounding as it was immediate. He’d transformed from gentleman to rake in an instant. And there was something in her brief glance that told him he was not alone. Taylor saved them both, however, when she turned and left him standing there, gawking at her like a schoolboy.

When he learned a few minutes later that Taylor was an earl’s daughter, and wealthy in her own right, it didn’t matter at all. She could just as well have been the carriage driver’s daughter. Bamberg was entranced. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to spend time with her.

After that, however, she avoided him at every turn. She was never present at any event her father invited him to attend. Other men might have considered her actions outright rejection of him. Not Bamberg. He’d already spent enough time in the company of the earl to know he was a dreadful man. She was simply reacting to family pressure and her father’s oafish attempts to treat her like a commodity. The pompous ass didn’t deserve her.