Duchess of Mine by Red L. Jameson Page A

only twice, thinking it the logical end to the
successful dating system. But it had felt horribly wrong. However,
that hadn’t made any sense then and sure didn’t now. The dates had
been productive—the two men she’d had sex with had been worthy
guys, both quite compatible with her, she’d thought.
    Rachel had asked the question, But what
about your heart, Fleur? Wasn’t compatibility good for her
heart? A good match of minds would shield her from the agony
of...losing someone. Although, Fleur knew it wouldn’t actually
prevent loss. She knew it logically. But still, wasn’t there
something to help that anguish?
    So she kept persisting at the dating
trajectory. It had to be the right path. She just hadn’t found a
like-minded enough man yet. But once she did, then the success
would be equated in terms of...she’d actually never thought of
marriage in the conventional sense. Maybe living together. Adopting
a child eventually. Things that seemed reasonable and rational.
    But kissing a stranger? In a tavern, no less?
When she couldn’t wrap her head around where the hell she was? This
was insane.
    She suddenly turned to Duncan, angry. “You
can’t just call me ‘the most beautiful woman’ and get away with it,
you know?”
    “Oh?” He kept staring ahead at the fiddle
player, but his lips quirked up at the corners.
    “No way, buddy.”
    “Buddy?” He still didn’t look at her, but
drank some of his beer. The bob of his Adam’s apple with that light
dusting of red whiskers rocked straight into her groin.
    “That’s right.” Her voice cracked. “There are
serious consequences to what you just did.”
    “Aye?”
    “That’s right.”
    He suddenly leaned very close, staring down
at her as his face finally halted a few inches from hers. His eyes
seemed to drink her in more than he’d drunk his beer. His gaze
sought hers, but then flickered down to her lips. “What are these
consequences, hmm?”
    She was going to do it. She was going to kiss
him. Just lean forward—her heart thudded so loud she was sure
everyone in the room heard it, her whole body tightened in
excitement—and kiss him.
    “Lady Fleur, there ye be.”
    Fleur glanced up at Rory, holding a few
wooden tankards full of more beer with Helen standing beside him,
grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Helen sat close to Fleur, leaning
into her ear while Rory took the only available seat then divvied
the beers on the table, continually smiling slightly, maybe a tad
forcibly.
    “I can take Mr. Rory MacKay back where we
came, if ye need time alone with my son?” Helen whispered.
    Duncan had distanced himself from Fleur, even
crossing his massive arms across his chest and spreading his legs a
little wider apart, as if bracing for her to attack him. Some
naughty part of her thought about bending over to see up his kilt.
Would the carpet match the curtains? She almost giggled at her
erotic thoughts, but then glanced at Duncan’s mother, which, of
course, was more than an icy splash of water on her fantasies.
    Fleur shook her head and tried to keep her
distance from Duncan too. He was just so...so...damned intriguing.
Sexy. Sensual. Dripping with animal charisma and—God, she had to
stop thinking about the man that way while his mother was so
close.
    The fiddle player stopped and everyone
clapped, except for the lute musician who frowned. Someone cried,
“Story time,” and then another repeated the words, until the whole
tavern bustled even louder. There was much talk between two men
Fleur thought to be the owners of the tavern, then they pointed to
a white-haired, thin man at a table with three large, much younger
women.
    “Tell us a story, Mr. Brown,” someone said.
Soon enough the tavern’s cacophony increased, ordering the elderly
Mr. Brown to grace the crowd with a yarn.
    Slowly standing on wobbly legs, he held a
hand in the air, which immediately hushed the crowd. He coughed a
few times, then cleared his throat. Smiling at the room, he