but it was the first time in a good long while. This was hardly the first time he’d woken in unfamiliar surroundings, head ringing and stomach achurn. He tried to piece together memories of the previous evening. The coach’s truncated shadow indicated midday. He peered out the window and saw nothing but vast expanses of rolling green, dappled with cloud-shaped shadows. Though the air in the coach was oven-warm, he shuddered. “I’m awake, I’m awake.” When she readied another blow, he held up his hands in surrender. She smacked him again with her collapsed parasol. They stared at one another in mutual horror. And the woman seated across from him was all too familiar, with the double strand of rubies at her throat and her elegant sweep of silver hair. He wasn’t in his bedchamber-or any bedchamber-but in the coach. Blinking, he confirmed the unthinkable truth. Now to the pounding and throbbing in his skull, he could add ringing.įorget the headache and piercing sunlight, he bolted upright-bashing his head again, this time on the low ceiling. An unyielding object cracked him over the head, but hard. Sighing a little in apology, he rubbed his thumb up and down.Ī squawk of feminine outrage assailed his ears. He caught a handful of heavy silk skirt and skimmed his touch downward until his fingers closed around a stocking-clad ankle. “Wake up.”ĭid he know that voice? Keeping one hand clapped over his eyes, he fumbled about with the other hand. Something dull and pointed jabbed his side. He’d need jewels to get out of this, no doubt. He inhaled and smelled perfume of an indeterminate, expensive sort.ĭamn. Just a vague impression of a feminine presence nearby. The epic duration of his celibacy was no doubt the reason he’d been tempted by. The next time you decide to bed a woman after a months-long drought, at least stay sober enough to remember it afterward. “Griff.” The voice came to him through a thick, murky haze. Was it just a trick of his nausea, or was the damned thing moving? He tried to ignore the throb in his temples and focused on the tufted, plush surface under his back.

Attempts to summon any recollection of the previous evening resulted in another sharp slice of agony. He quickly shut his eye again and put a hand over it, groaning. A bright stab of pain told him he’d made a grave mistake.

Any Duchess Will Do by Tessa Dare