Scoundrel of My Heart (Once Upon a Dukedom #1) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,1
finds one who might be suitable. I think he’s brilliant to come up with this strategy.”
The Duke of Kingsland, the most eligible and sought-after bachelor among the ton. The man avoided the social scene, stayed in London only long enough to see to his duties in the House of Lords, and never lost at games of chance. As far as Griffith knew, the duke had few close friends. He wielded wealth, power, and influence in equal measure thanks to a title that had carried weight for generations. Which might explain the advert he’d placed in the Times encouraging the daughters of peers to write him explaining why he should consider them as a potential duchess. Audition for him through the post. He would announce his selection at a ball he was hosting the last evening in June, would court her the remainder of the Season, and if he found her to be as appealing as her letter indicated, he would marry her before the end of the next Season.
Neat and tidy and so deuced boring. Griffith preferred to experience that first unexpected hint of allure, of interest, and then to explore the potential in a slow, seductive unraveling that revealed commonalities, differences, and secrets. He liked discovering how everything came together to make a woman intriguing. Some things he discovered before he bedded her, some things during, some things after. But always he enjoyed uncovering the various parts that created the whole. Even if, when the whole took shape, he lost interest, he still relished the journey. For him, it was always about savoring the discoveries, appreciating each nuance as though it was a fine wine he’d never before tasted.
“I’m not certain it’s brilliant,” Lady Jocelyn said. It wasn’t. It was damned lazy. It was an injustice to the woman, reduced her to a list of attributes, as though she was no more important than cattle. Besides, could a woman even know herself well enough to understand what any particular man might fancy about her? “But I suppose there is no harm in writing him. It’s not as though I have suitors falling at my feet.”
“Jolly good! I’ve always found competition encourages us to call to our better selves,” Lady Kathryn exclaimed heartily, causing insidious pain to travel through Griffith’s ears and brain. He couldn’t hold back his groan of discomfort.
“What the deuce was that?” his sister asked, and he wished he could curl into a minuscule ball or scooch his way around to the side of the house, but any movement at all was bound to elicit an objection from his aching head and increase the severity of the pounding in his skull. Best to merely lie still and hope the ladies simply went on about their business.
He heard the rustle of leaves and the snap of a twig. Apparently hope was not the best of strategies.
“Griff? What the devil are you doing sprawled out over the ground back there?”
Squinting—was the morning sun always this bright?—he peered up at Althea. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure, but it does appear I got turned about returning home last night.” For some inexplicable reason he’d not used the front door. Perhaps he’d been unable, with clumsy fingers, to grasp the key nestled in his waistcoat pocket. Although, patting said pocket now, he found it empty. Had he misplaced the bit of brass?
“You were well in your cups again, weren’t you?”
“I do seem to recall some celebrating going on.” For a while the games had favored him . . . until they hadn’t. What was a man supposed to do when fortune slipped away except seek solace in drink?
“Well, stir yourself and come out of there,” she ordered briskly, as though she wasn’t three years his junior but was instead his elder.
With a great deal of effort, he shoved himself to his feet, pressed his back to the brick, and crept out through the narrow space between wall and foliage, trying to avoid getting snagged by the sharp-edged leaves of the hedges. When he reached his sister, she scrunched up her entire face. “You smell like a distillery.”
“How do you know how a distillery smells?” Looking past her to the two ladies sitting at the white linen-covered round table, he forced his most charming grin to form, a smile he didn’t feel like granting, not only because of the increased ache in his head but because of what he’d overheard. “Ladies, how are you this fine morning?”