Page 12 of The Duke Meets His Match

He was dangerous. Not only did she feel a sweeping pull low in her stomach when he touched her, but he knew part of her deepest secrets. And he’d threatened to reveal them.

Bloody hell. Sleep would be elusive tonight.

…

The following morning, Chloe was still tired as she descended the grand staircase. Images of constables chasing her through the city streets had haunted her dreams. The nightmare wasn’t unusual but—for the first time—it had changed last night. The constable’s face took on the darkly handsome image of the Duke of Cameron. She’d woken, heart pounding, a sheen of perspiration on her forehead. It had taken several minutes for the vision to fade and reality to return.

She yawned as her foot landed on the last step. Her nose twitched as the smell of coffee wafted to her. Thank the Lord.

She hurried to the breakfast room to find Eliza sitting at the table, a steaming plate of eggs before her, sipping a cup of coffee. Chloe glanced at a long sideboard holding chafing dishes of eggs, bacon, and rolls. Her stomach growled.

“Good grief, Chloe. You have dark circles beneath your eyes and you look like you haven’t slept in days.” Eliza set her cup on her saucer and stared at her sister.

“Good morning to you, too,” Chloe said.

“Are you well? Has your headache subsided?” Eliza’s brow furrowed in concern.

Most of the annoyance fled from Chloe at her sister’s look of concern. Chloe’s stomach dropped, and she knew Eliza worried she was ill.

Chloe smoothed her hair. “I’m fine. I just had trouble sleeping.”

“Again? Perhaps you should have Alice bring you a cup of warm milk tonight before you retire.”

“I’ll be sure to ask her.” Chloe doubted drinking warm milk would have helped her last night.

She picked up a plate and started filling it with poached eggs and bacon from the sideboard, then joined her sister at the table and spread her napkin on her lap. “Where’s Huntingdon?”

“He had an appointment. A new artist has a showing,” Eliza said.

Huntingdon was a renowned art critic. He’d also been fooled by their father, Jonathan Miller, the talented forger, years ago. But fate had been kind to the three sisters, and instead of seeking revenge against their father, Lord Huntingdon had fallen madly in love with Eliza and married her.

A liveried footman entered the breakfast room with a pot of coffee, and Chloe nearly wept with joy. “Thank you,” she said as the servant poured her cup.

Chloe picked up her fork just as the butler came forth carrying a silver salver. “These just arrived for you, my lady.”

Eliza took two letters and broke a red seal on the first one. “Why, it’s from Huntingdon’s aunt, Lady Holand, in Scotland. She must be in her mideighties. She needs a companion and wonders if I know a suitable young lady.”

Chloe sipped her coffee. “Doesn’t she live in the wilds of Scotland? That may be difficult.”

“Yes, but I will make inquiries for her.”

Eliza reached for the second letter and her face lit. “It’s from Amelia. She and Lord Vale plan to return from Hampshire next week.”

Chloe’s mood turned buoyant, and she smiled. “I know it has only been a month, but I miss her terribly.” Their middle sister, Amelia, had recently married the Earl of Vale and they’d been away at their Hampshire country home.

Amelia, unlike Eliza and Chloe, inherited their father’s ability to paint forgeries. When one of her forgeries suddenly became available at a viscount’s estate sale, the sisters had been in a panic. But it had attracted the attention of Lord Vale, who had been enamored of Amelia and had hired her to paint his portrait rather than turn her in to the authorities.

The identity of the sisters’ criminal father had been revealed to society, but two weddings to wealthy and influential earls had turned what would otherwise be outrageous scandals into romantic fairy tales.

But Chloe’s own secrets had remained undisclosed.

Until now.

Not for the first time, she wondered how much the Duke of Cameron knew.

Eliza set the letters aside and looked at Chloe. “Are you certain you are well? You seem anxious.”

“Forgive me. I’m just tired.”