Not That Duke by Eloisa James EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Eloisa James
- Language: English
- Genre: Women’s Historical Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 4 MB
- Price: Free
March 24, 1816 (just over a month later)
The Duke and Duchess of Trent’s annual ball
Bearing the weight of a man sounded interesting . . . until it happened.
Mind you, Lord Belper was a particularly healthy specimen. Stella found
herself pinned to the floor, gasping for air.
She had made an error while dancing a quadrille and bumped her partner,
who collided with her bosom and toppled like an elm tree struck by lightning.
“Lord Belper,” she rasped, pushing ineffectively at his shoulders. From
above came a swell of alarmed voices, along with more than a few giggles.
“Wha’ happened?” he asked groggily. Perhaps his head hit the floor when
he fell. Hers certainly had.
“I can’t breathe,” she gasped.
“I can,” he informed her.
His weight suddenly disappeared as someone hauled him upright. “Belper,
you dunderhead,” a deep voice said. “Are you in the whiskey again?”
Stella took a desperate gulp of air and realized that her vision was blurry.
“Does anyone see my spectacles?” She should sit up and look for them, but
her head was spinning.
“Drink had nothing to do with it,” Lord Belper said, sounding sulky. “She
tripped me!”
“Lady Stella, are you injured?” She knew that voice, she thought fuzzily.
Deep, low, confident . . . Without her spectacles all she could see was a circle
of blurry heads standing out against a bright haze of chandeliers.
“Can’t see where she goes . . .”
“Blind,” someone else remarked.
And then, worst of all: “Bounced on her like a featherbed.” With a laugh.
Just to top off the disaster, a drop of hot wax fell from a candle far above
and landed with an audible plop on her cleavage.
Stella squeaked and slapped a hand over her bosom just as a man bent
closer. She instantly realized who had spoken earlier. This particular duke
smelled like late autumn: apples, spice, a touch of starch, a hint of snow in
the air.
Altogether delectable.
Her head cleared abruptly. She was lying on the floor, and her rumpled
gown was pulled above her ankles. Her aunt would have hysterics.
“My spectacles?” she asked again, rolling to the side and yanking down
her skirts before she came to her knees, peering between the feet that
surrounded her.
The Duke of Huntington crouched down beside her. “I have them, Lady
Stella. They are undamaged.”
His Grace had astonishingly beautiful eyes: as gray as a winter day to go
along with that . . . that autumnal odor of his. Stella blinked up at him before
she snatched her spectacles and put them back on her nose, threading the
sides around her ears.
He put a strong hand under her elbow. “Are you uninjured?” Silvester
asked, once she was on her feet. She thought of him as Silvester because the
name suited him. It was a fancy, elegant name for a fancy, elegant man.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled.
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