Love Letters From a Duke Read Online Free

identical. The one catching up the mutt of a dog in her arms was a lithe beauty, but it was the one still holding the door latch who caught and held his attention.
    Her hair held that elusive color of caramel, something to tempt and tease a man. Especially one like himself who’d been gone too long from the company of good society—and young women especially.
    Twelve years at war. Three months on a transport sailing back from Portugal. A month of riding from one end of England to nearly the other, with enough snow in between to make him wonder if he’d been dropped off in Russia instead of Sussex. Then the shock of arriving home and finding himself not just his grandfather’s heir, but the duke.
    The Duke of Hollindrake .
    Gone in an instant was Captain Thatcher, the nom de plume he’d taken that long ago night when he’d disavowed the future his grandfather had cast for him. Instead he’d used the winnings from a night of gambling to buy a commission under a false name and fled to the far corners of the world where no one would interfere with his life.
    The Duke of Hollindrake. He shuddered. It wasn’t the mountain of responsibilities and the management of all of it that bothered him. He’d shouldered that and more getting his troops back and forth across the Peninsula. No, it was the title that had him in the crosshairs. He wasn’t a duke. Not inthe mold his grandfather and eight generations of Sterlings before that had set down. Stuffy and lofty, and trained from birth for the imperious role that was theirs by some divine ordinance.
    Oh, to be Thatcher still. For even with his arse freezing, his nose nearly frostbit, and his fingers stiff from cold, his blood suddenly ran hot at the sight before him. And Thatcher would have stolen a sweet kiss from her pert lips, while the Duke of Hollindrake, well, he had to assume a more, shudder , proper manner.
    Too bad this fetching little minx wasn’t the miss his grandfather had wooed on his behalf. No chance of that, certainly not the social climbing bit of muslin who’d written quite plainly of her intentions to attain the loftiest of marriages—well, shy of a royal one.
    “I’m here to see Miss Felicity Langley,” he repeated.
    By the way this miss was eyeing him—as if he were some ancient marauder, having arrived on their front steps to pillage and plunder—he realized that perhaps his aunt had been right. He should have made himself presentable before arriving on the lady’s doorstep.
    Well, perhaps he would, as Aunt Geneva had declared, send Miss Langley running back to Almack’s at the sight of him.
    “I’m Miss Langley,” she said, pert nose rising slightly.
    This was his betrothed? Since his grandfather had had a hand in all this, he’d expected some snaggle-toothed harridan or some mousy bit without a hint of color. Not one who’d answer the door wearing bright red socks.
    “Miss Felicity Langley?” he probed. Certainly there had to be a mistake. His grandfather would never have chosen such a pretty chit. Breathtaking, really.
    But to his shock, she nodded.
    Fine. So this was Felicity Langley. He took a deep breath and consigned himself to the fact that while she hadn’t thedental afflictions he’d imagined, given time she’d prove him correct about the harridan part.
    “My apologies, miss,” he said, bowing slightly, “I’ve come to—” But before he could say anything further, the lady found her tongue.
    “Heavens, sir, what are you thinking?” she scolded. “Arriving at the front door? Hardly a recommendation, I daresay. Speaks more of your cheek than your experience.” She paused for a moment and glanced at him, as if inspecting him for…well, he didn’t know what. He’d never had a woman look at him in quite this way. Or scold him in such a fashion. At least not since he’d stopped wearing short coats.
    Certainly he’d had his fair share of women casting glances in his direction, but this imperious Bath miss had the