Page 1 of The Duke's Virgin

One

Stacia

If my phonerang one more time, I might rip my hair out.

And honestly, considering how hot it was proving to be, that might be a good idea. It was only May, and the temperature in New York City already had me sweltering.

I eyed the number on my screen, then shoved it into my purse, deciding I’d much rather find a ponytail holder than answer the phone.

I’d have to take the call sooner or later, though.

It was my mother, and if I didn’t answer, she’d send one of her people around tocollectme.

That was how it was always phrased.

Like I was some lost bauble.

If I proved to be hard tocollect, my father would be reeled into the game, and that would make it so much more fun. The entire thing was enough to give me a headache, and I’d only dodged two calls from her in the past few days.

Two.

It might as well have been twenty, because I already knew what she wanted.

Come join me for tea, Stacia. We haven’t caught up in some time. Or dinner. We should chat.

Her lightly accented Italian voice would be bright and warm, offering no insight as to what lay ahead, but as soon as I appeared on her doorstep, the ax would fall.

The marital ax.

Ever since I completed my Master’s degree a few months earlier, she’d been on me aboutfinding a good man. Well, before that really. The subtle suggestions had started a year into my studies at Oxford, but I’d brushed them aside. Each year, they’d grown more and more direct, and now,nobodycould consider the questionssubtle. Frankly, they bordered on obnoxious, in my opinion, but I doubted Mom would listen if I tried to tell her.

I finally found a hairband in the bottom of the Gucci purse I’d bought myself as a graduation present. It was ridiculously impractical—bonus. Also, it was in no way subtle or discreet—another bonus. It was a soft, demure pink, but that was the onlysubtlething about the purse.

On the front was a giant bee, wings spread out, and the glitzy little insect with its red crystal stones caught the light in a delightfully frivolous fashion. My mother hated it. It was juvenile, but that had been my goal when I bought it, although Ihadloved the purse itself.

After securing the purse and settling the long, crossbody strap over my shoulder, I gathered the heavy weight of my dark hair into my hands and twisted it up, securing it with the ponytail holder. Immediately, I felt the relief of a breeze kissing my bare nape, and I breathed a little easier.

“That’s more like it,” I murmured.

As I started down the wide path that wound through Central Park, I tried to push away the lingering irritation caused by my mother’s phone call, despite having not answered.

It wouldn’t get any easier to dodge her. She’d called once already today.

Dad had called earlier, and I wouldn’t be able to put them off much longer.

I hadn’t seen either of them since my graduation party nearly three weeks earlier, and each time Ididtalk to one of them, the message became less and less subtle.

Especially on my mother’s part.

You graduated. That’s what you said you wanted. Now what, darling?

“Now what,what?” That was what Iwantedto say. That was what the rebellious part of medemandedI say. That rebellious streak was wide and deep, although very well hidden. Sure, it managed to gain control and nudge me into the store where I’d seen the silly pink purse with its silly bumblebee decoration. But that rebellious streak wasn’t so wide as to tell mymotherwhat I really wanted to tell her.

Fuck off.

Even the idea struck me as so absurd, I had to swallow back a wild laugh.

Abruptly, I realized people were looking at me, and I glanced around. I’d made it all the way to Belvedere Castle in Central Park. Blowing out a breath, I peered at the structure, using my hand to shade my eyes from the sun while all around me, kids played and voices rose in the air.

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