What I Did for a Duke (Pennyroyal Green, #5)

by Julie Anne Long

“Well, I’m partial to whores.” Her head whipped toward him like a weathervane in a hurricane. Her eyes, he noted, were enormous, and such a dark blue they were nearly purple. Her mouth dropped, and the lower lip was quivering with shock or . . . or . . . “Whor . . . whores . . . ?” She choked out the word as if she’d just inhaled it like bad cigar smoke. He widened his own eyes with alarm, recoiling slightly. “I . . . I beg your pardon—Horses. Honestly, Miss Eversea,” he stammered. “I do wonder what you think of me if that’s what you heard.” He shook his head ruefully. “Horses. Those hooved beasts a man can race, wager upon, plow a field with, harness to a phaeton, and drive at deliciously reckless speeds.” She stared at him now as he walked. Those wide eyes went narrow, bringing him into focus, isolating him in a very potent, too intelligent beam of blue. “And one cannot do any of that with whores?” she asked softly. His turn to drop his jaw. He clapped it shut again. She’d pointed that neat profile away from him again. But when the corners of her pale mouth had tightened, he saw—yes, he saw—a dimple. And now he was certain, he was certain she was doing combat with a smile. His heart picked up a beat or two. “It’s a frustrating truism,” he allowed resignedly, “but it’s a rare whore who’ll consent to be harnessed to a plow.”

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“And I would be honored if you would consent to be my wife,” he added. Finally a proper proposal! “Once you’ve jilted Harry.” Oh God, but he was a devil. Who in their right mind would marry this man? She’d have to be mad. It was wicked and awful. But she was laughing and crying all at once.