A Lady for a Duke

by Alexis Hall

Viola’s immediate instinct was to run and catch him up in case he fell in and drowned, but that would have been contrary to Lady Marleigh’s wishes. “A child who can’t even make it past the age of seven without drowning itself in some brook or other,” she would have said, “is likely to make a very annoying adult.”

Breakfast is the best meal of the day—as it should be, to console one for having to get out of bed.

“Do you mind if I ask”—Gracewood gave a soft cough—“and I’m aware this question is likely to compound your poor opinion of me, what are you doing here?”

“This? I found it in the attic. I thought it was pretty.” “You look like a shepherdess in a pastoral.” Lady Miranda thought for a moment. “Thank you.” “Not a compliment,” returned Lady Marleigh.

Morgencald is very beautiful and has a lot of… a lot of… nature. What more could I need?” “Company? Diversion? Dresses that don’t look like the fever dream of Marie Antoinette?”

“Justin would be a terrible ogre. He’s far too polite. He would say things like, fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive or be he dead, would you please forgive me the discourtesy were I to grind your bones to make my bread.”

“So you want to play their game? But make it yours?” “Ours.” The word tasted like a kiss, like the heat of her mouth under his.

Friends should stand by each other no matter what. As I shall stand by Arthur, even though he is a mouse.” Arthur squeaked, and Viola took it for approval.

Viola was in blue again. Mazarine blue, as deep as a summer evening. He had known she would be, because he had watched her buy the fabric, but he hadn’t been prepared for its shimmer and her starkness. The way it would turn her skin to starlight. Her eyes to midnight. Her mouth to some velvet flower.

I’m not afraid. Nor”—her eyes were still upon his—“will I let myself be ashamed for desiring beautiful things.”

“This body can fight. And ride. And sew. And play the pianoforte badly. It is mine. It deserves any carnal acts I want to indulge with it. And if you want to find it beautiful, Gracewood, I will let you. Because I don’t see why it can’t be.”