The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) (39 page)

Gabriel thought to chide her, but the girl chose that moment to smile at him again, and the words simply refused to flow from his mouth. Well, she did have an incredible smile. The sort that touched one’s heart—if one had a heart—which he didn’t, having lost it sometime during the war.

Her eyes were bluer than the sky.

His frown faded.

She shook her head and let out the softest sigh. “You’re so wonderful with him. Do you have children of your own?”

“You ought to be more careful with your young charge,” Gabriel said, clearing his throat and speaking to her with purposeful severity. The girl’s attributes, no matter how heavenly, did not excuse her lapse in duty.

“Oh, Harry’s not my charge... well, he is in a way. You see, he’s my cousin. And the nannies have all quit our household, so I’m left all alone with the seven children until my family returns.” She wiped a stray lock off her brow and then put her arms forward to show him her rolled-up sleeves. “I was trying to bathe the littlest ones.”

He noticed that her finely made gown was wet in several spots. “It seems they bathed you.”

“What? Oh, yes. They did give me a thorough soaking.” She laughed gently while shaking her head in obvious exasperation. “Harry was the last, but now I’ll have to bathe him all over again.”

“Don’t let me delay you.” He attempted to hand the squirming bundle back to her, but before he could manage it, Harry decided to leave him a remembrance.

What was the expression? No good deed ever goes unpunished? Gabriel watched in horror as an arc of liquid shot from the naked imp onto his shirt front, planting a disgustingly warm, yellow stain on the once immaculate white lawn fabric.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or rage. He’d been undone. Brought to his knees by an infant and an incompetent guardian.

“Oh, dear,” the girl said, closing her eyes and groaning. “I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.”

So was he. He ought to have listened to Ian, but not because the Farthingale women were dangerous. It seemed all Farthingales were dangerous. Young. Old. Male. Female.

The family and their servants were to be avoided at all costs.

“We’ll pay for the damage, of course,” she continued in obvious distress, her eyes remaining firmly closed, as if not seeing the damage would somehow make it go away. “We’ll replace whatever needs... er, replacing. Please have your tailor send the bill to Miss Daisy Farthingale. I’ll make certain it is paid at once.”

Gabriel’s heart stopped beating. Yes, it definitely stopped. And then it began to beat very fast.

“You’re Daisy?” he mumbled, his tongue suddenly as numb as the rest of his body. Not that he cared who she was, or what Ian had warned. He wasn’t afraid of any female, certainly not this incompetent slip of a girl.

She opened her eyes and graced him with a gentle, doe-eyed gaze. “I am.”

Very well, Ian was right. She was a force to be reckoned with, but so would any woman be with glistening blue eyes, pink cheeks, and cream-silk skin.

“Sir, may I be so bold as to ask who you are?”

“I’m late, that’s what I am.” He plunked Harry in her arms and hastened to his grandmother’s house.

END

Daisy loves her family and desperately wants to make them proud of her by marrying well; however, her heart refuses to cooperate and keeps leading her to Gabriel Dayne, a man she believes is a wastrel and notorious rake. Gabriel has spent years creating his dissolute image in order to spy on Napoleon’s agents, and he isn’t about to destroy all those years of important work for a snip of a girl who’s somehow stolen his heart. We know that Daisy will find true love only by following her heart and believing in Gabriel. However, in Regency England, a young woman had little chance to succeed on her own merits. Often, the only way to gain the respect of her family was to achieve a brilliant marriage. Daisy will be forced to make that choice, for the handsome heir to one of England’s most powerful families has offered for her hand in marriage and Daisy is feeling tremendous pressure to accept.

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MEARA PLATT
is married to her Russell Crowe look-alike husband, and they have two terrific children. She lives on Long Island, New York, and loves it except for the traffic. She has traveled the world, occasionally lectures, and always finds time to write. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her Romance Writers of America Golden Heart–winning story to be released as Book 3 in her paranormal romance Garden series, which is set to debut in 2015. Learn more about Meara Platt by visiting her website at mearaplatt.com.

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MEARA PLATT

My Fair Lily:
London is never the same after the boisterous Farthingales move into their townhouse on Chipping Way, one of the loveliest streets in fashionable Mayfair. With five beautiful daughters in residence, the street soon becomes known as a deathtrap for bachelors.

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