Read When the Duchess Said Yes for Free Online

and then I couldn’t find you again.”
    She hated herself for lying to Charlotte, but the truth was so shamefully grievous that Lizzie could never confess it, not even to her sister.
    Charlotte’s contrition made it worse. “Oh, please forgive me, Lizzie, forgive me if you can. That was all my fault, for becoming so caught up in the tattle of the day that I forgot you. Here now, sit beside me and calm yourself before we return to the gentlemen. You’re very jumbled now, and I want you to be serene when you meet Hawke.”
    She led Lizzie toward the nearest bench, conveniently emptied for them by a footman who’d shooed away the bench’s other, less worthy occupants. Seated at her sister’s side, Charlotte smoothed Lizzie’s hair, tucking the stray wisps back beneath her flowered wreath.
    “You’re flushed,” Charlotte said with concern. “Are you feverish? Do you feel unwell?”
    “I’m well enough.” Quickly Lizzie looked down, fearing what her eyes might betray. “But if you please, Charlotte, shouldn’t we return to the pavilion?”
    Charlotte rose and smiled slyly. “To the pavilion, and to meet your bridegroom, too. I suppose you’ve every reason to feel feverish, dear Lizzie, haven’t you?”
    Perhaps she was feverish. Certainly all the way back to the pavilion her stomach was twisting in knots as she struggled to balance her conscience against her giddy excitement. She must banish the nameless stranger from her head now , and instead anticipate meeting the man who would be her husband. She must put from her mind the only kiss she’d ever had, and concentrate on her dutiful marriage and the honorable kisses that would come from her husband. Duty, honor, respectability appropriate to her rank and position, to her husband and the children they’d have together: that was what mattered, not the folly of a meaningless embrace and a kiss from a man whom—with luck—she’d never see again.
    A man whom, if Lizzie was honest, she would never forget.
    Yet as soon as she and Charlotte reached the canal,they could see that March was alone at the table in the pavilion. He wasn’t sitting, either, but standing, his expression severe and his hands clasped behind his waist. His watch was no longer open on the table but tucked back in its waistcoat pocket. None of it augured well.
    “I have sent for the carriage,” March announced even before they’d reached him. “Our evening here is done. Hawke has only now sent word that he regrets that he is unable to attend us this evening. Regrets, my foot. My only regret is that he is such a selfish, ill-mannered rascal.”
    “Oh, Lizzie, I am sorry,” Charlotte said. “The man’s behavior is appalling, to show you so little regard.”
    But though Lizzie nodded solemnly, as she was expected to do, inside she was vastly relieved. She wouldn’t have to smile sweetly at one man while another’s kiss was still on her lips. Her secret was safe, and she wouldn’t be called Lizzie Wyldest again.
    And at least for this night, the duke’s absence and neglect didn’t wound her. How could it? For this night, there was at least one man in London who believed she was as sweet as the first peach, and luscious as the first rose.

Hawke was not by nature a man who found much profit or goodness in the early hours of the day. To his mind, more and more interesting things occurred as the day progressed, with the absolutely most fascinating taking place well after boring, sensible folk had long since retired. Those first hours after the cock’s crow were tedious and dull and far too bright, and it was Hawke’s habit to pass them with the curtains drawn, snug in his own bed (or someone else’s, if a pleasing female opportunity had presented itself).
    This was, of course, the expected regime of a gentleman in Naples, where no one of rank or fashion ever ventured out before noon, and Hawke had continued to keep the same hours here in London as well. All of which explained why