Guilty Pleasures
Chatper One
Hampshire, 1830
No one who glanced at Daphne Wade would
ever imagine that she had a guilty, secret pleasure.
Her countenance was plain, made more so by
the spectacles perched on her nose. Her hair was
light brown and fashioned into a functional bun at
the nape of her neck. All her dresses were varying
shades of beige, brown, or gray. Her height was average,
and her figure was usually concealed beneath
a loose-fitting work apron of heavy canvas. Her
voice was low and pleasant to the ear, with nothing
strident in its tone to evoke anyone's attention.
No one judging her by her appearance would
dream that Miss Daphne Wade had the rather salacious habit of staring at her employer's naked chest
whenever she had the chance, although most
women would have agreed that Anthony Courtland,
Duke of Tremore, had a chest worth looking at.
Daphne rested her elbows on the sill of the open
window and lifted the brass spyglass. Using the instrument
was awkward when she was wearing her
spectacles, so she pulled them off. After setting the
gold-rimmed pair on the windowsil ... read full excerpt from: Guilty Pleasures ebook
