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

by Julie Anne Long

It seemed as though a fine layer of crystal suddenly enclosed the day. Everything glowed with supernatural brilliance. Even her nerves were spun glass. She would ping if he touched her.

Friend. At the moment she would rather have been called anything else. A wolverine.

And as he walked and stared at the backs of her friends and Jacob and Ian, something peculiar happened to him. Could that twinge somewhere in his solar plexus be . . . enjoyment? Could that tension around his mouth be . . . a smile struggling to form?

🤌

He did know the name of the artist. He’d had portraits of his horses done, too. A man must commemorate his loved ones, after all.

“Your modesty is as appealing as your sensitivity, Lord Moncrieffe. But perhaps a reel other than the waltz? We differ so in height I shall be speaking to your third button throughout the dance.

Safe. It was another word she found unflattering and yet strangely appealing. She had a terrible suspicion this was leading to another assessment of her character she wouldn’t appreciate. She might be called “sensible” and “serene” and “mature” again and if he uttered those words she’d be unable to bear it. She would scream until the chandeliers shook.