Copyright © 2019 Sabrina Jeffries, LLC
Cover photograph © Jon Paul
Author photograph © Jessi Blakely for Tamara Lackey photography
The right of Sabrina Jeffries to be identified as the Author of
the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Published by arrangement with Zebra Books,
an imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.
First published in this Ebook edition in 2019
by HEADLINE ETERNAL
An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the
Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN 978 1 4722 6628 6
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Praise for Sabrina Jeffries
By Sabrina Jeffries
About the Book
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Be seduced by the Sinful Suitors
Meet the Hellions of Halstead Hall
Find out more about Headline Eternal
About the Author
Sabrina Jeffries is the New York Times bestselling author of more than 50 novels and works of short fiction (some written under the pseudonyms Deborah Martin and Deborah Nicholas). Whatever time not spent speaking to organizations around the country or writing in a coffee-fueled haze is spent traveling with her husband and adult autistic son or indulging in one of her passions – jigsaw puzzles, chocolate, and music.
With over 9 million books in print in more than 20 languages, the North Carolina author never regrets tossing aside a budding career in academics (she has a Ph.D. in English literature) for the sheer joy of writing fun fiction, and hopes that one day a book of hers will end up saving the world. She always dreams big.
For more information, visit her at www.sabrinajeffries.com, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/SabrinaJeffriesAuthor or on Twitter @SabrinaJeffries.
Praise for Sabrina Jeffries, queen of the sexy regency romance:
‘Irresistible . . . Larger-than-life characters, sprightly dialogue, and a steamy romance will draw you into this delicious captive/captor tale’ Romantic Times (top pick)
‘Another excellent series of books which will alternatively have you laughing, crying and running the gamut of emotions . . . I guarantee you will have a tear in your eye’ Romance Reviews Today
‘The sexual tension crackles across the pages of this witty, deliciously sensual, secret-laden story’ Library Journal
‘Exceptionally entertaining and splendidly sexy’ Booklist
‘An enchanting story brimming with sincere emotions and compelling scenarios . . . an outstanding love story of emotional discoveries and soaring passions, with a delightful touch of humor plus suspense’ Single Titles
‘Scorching . . . From cover to cover, it sizzles’ Reader to Reader
‘Full of all the intriguing characters, brisk plotting, and witty dialogue that Jeffries’s readers have come to expect’ Publishers Weekly (starred review)
By Sabrina Jeffries
Duke Dynasty Series
Project Duchess
Sinful Suitors Series
The Art Of Sinning
The Study Of Seduction
The Danger Of Desire
The Pleasures Of Passion
A Talent For Temptation (e-novella)
The Secret Of Flirting
The Risk Of Rogues (e-novella)
Hellions Of Halstead Hall Series
The Truth About Lord Stoneville
A Hellion In Her Bed
How To Woo A Reluctant Lady
To Wed A Wild Lord
A Lady Never Surrenders
About the Book
A series of stepfathers and a difficult childhood have left Fletcher ‘Grey’ Pryde, 5th Duke of Greycourt, with a guarded heart, enviable wealth and the undeserved reputation of a rogue. He has little time for finding a wife, but when his mother is widowed again, fate throws the delightfully unconventional Beatrice Wolfe into his path.
Beatrice gave up on romance long ago and, at first, meeting the arrogant Duke of Greycourt does little to change her mind. Then Grey agrees to assist his grief-stricken mother with her latest ‘project’ – schooling spirited, unfashionable Beatrice for her debut – and Beatrice begins to glimpse the real Grey beneath the charming veneer. But once Grey starts digging into her family’s secrets, she must decide whether her loyalties lie with her family . . . or with the man whose lessons capture her heart.
For more dazzlingly romantic and witty historical romance, don’t miss Sabrina’s other gorgeous series including The Sinful Suitors, The Hellions of Halstead Hall, The School for Heiresses and The Royal Brotherhood.
To Joyce Ratley,
for your many, many fine years of teaching
and caring for our autistic kids and adults.
We’ll miss your wisdom and your wonderful ways.
I know you will go on to do even more great things.
And to my agent,
Pam Ahearn of The Ahearn Agency,
who has supported me for thirty-one years of
good times and bad. Hope we continue for many more!
London Society Times
DOWAGER DUCHESS LOSES THIRD HUSBAND
As promised, dear readers, we have made haste to bring you the latest on-dit, and a most startling one it is, indeed. The former Lydia Fletcher now has the dubious distinction of having been wed and widowed by three dukes: the 4th Duke of Greycourt, the 2nd Duke of Thornstock, and the newly deceased 3rd Duke of Armitage.
She has also managed to bear each an heir, and in one case, even an heir and a spare—with, it must be said, mixed results. While her son Fletcher Pryde, the 5th Duke of Greycourt, has increased his father’s wealth tenfold, he is also rumored to run a secret cabal of licentious bachelors. Given the reserve of this gentleman, one could hardly imagine anyone less disposed to such purposeless behavior, but then, as is often observed, still waters do run deep.
One might more easily believe such a rumor of her second son, Marlowe Drake, the 3rd Duke of Thornstock, who, it is said, has never dance
d with a lightskirt he didn’t like. His twin sister, Lady Gwyn, newly arrived in London, promises to make such behavior more difficult by forcing him to ride herd on her own suitors. Her first Season should prove most interesting, and yours truly will be observing such with rapt attention.
Finally we come to Sheridan Wolfe, the 4th Duke of Armitage, who has spent most of his life in Prussia, where his late father was ambassador. He’s the dark horse of the family, unfamiliar to many in society, though he will probably have no trouble finding an heiress willing to exchange her dowry for the rarified title of duchess. If she does, she’d best bear him an heir and a spare forthwith, since his younger brother Colonel Lord Heywood Wolfe is waiting in the wings for his chance at the title!
Indeed, all the progeny of the dowager duchess Lydia had best bear heirs as soon as they can, given—and one can only shudder to say it—the family propensity to have their dukes perish before their time.
The funeral will take place at Armitage Hall in Lincolnshire.
Chapter One
London, September 1808
One fine autumn afternoon, Fletcher Pryde, 5th Duke of Greycourt, strode up the steps of his Mayfair town house, caught up in thinking through his business affairs. Which was probably why he missed the speaking look on his butler’s face as he stalked through the doorway.
“Your Grace, I feel it is my duty to make you aware that—”
“Not now, Johnston. I’ve got a dinner at eight, and I hope to catch old Brierly at his club before then. He’s unloading property near my Devon estate that I must have if I’m to continue my improvements. And I have reports I have to peruse before I can even talk to him.”
“More land, Grey?” said a decidedly young, female voice. “Sometimes I think you shop for properties as eagerly as women shop for gowns. Judging from your reputation for shrewd dealing, you probably pay less for them, too.”
Grey whirled toward the sound. “Vanessa!” He scowled over at Johnston. “Why didn’t you tell me she was here?”
His butler lifted his eyes a fraction, as close as the man ever came to rolling them. “I did try, sir.”
“Ah. Right. I suppose you did.”
Grey smiled indulgently at Vanessa Pryde. At twenty-four, she was ten years his junior and more like a little sister than a first cousin.
He removed his hat, driving gloves, and greatcoat before handing them to the footman. Grey didn’t recognize the servant, who was gawking at Vanessa like a pauper at a princess. The footman’s fascination was understandable, given her heart-shaped face, perfect proportions, and wealth of jet-black curls, but it was also most inappropriate.
Grey cast the fellow one of the quelling glances at which he excelled.
When the footman colored and hurried off, Johnston stepped up to murmur, “Sorry, Your Grace. He’s new. I will be sure to speak to him.”
“See that you do.” Then he turned his attention to Vanessa, who didn’t even seem to have noticed the exchange. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“You ought to have been, Cousin.” With an elaborate curtsey, Vanessa flashed him a mischievous smile. “Or should I say, ‘prospective fiancé’?”
“Don’t even joke about that,” he grumbled. Every time he tried to think of himself married to Vanessa, he remembered her as a babe in swaddling, being held by her father, his uncle Eustace Pryde, and he knew he couldn’t do it. He’d seen her grow up—he couldn’t imagine her as his wife.
Fortunately, she had no desire to marry him, either. Which was why whenever her ambitious mother sent her over here with instructions to get him into a compromising position so they could be forced into marriage, they spent most of the time drumming up a plausible reason for why Vanessa had “just missed him.”
“Don’t worry.” Vanessa gave a little laugh. “My maid is with me. As usual, she will swear to whatever excuse we concoct for Mama. So come join us for tea and cakes in the drawing room.”
Leave it to Vanessa to take charge of his household. As they strolled down the hall, he said, “You look well.”
Preening a bit, she danced ahead and whirled to face him, forcing him to halt as she swished her skirts about her legs. “So you like my new gown? I won’t tell Mama. She picked it out herself to tempt you. I told her yellow was your favorite color.”
“I hate yellow.”
Her blue eyes twinkled at him. “Precisely.”
A helpless laugh escaped him. “You, my dear, are a hoyden. If you would put a tenth of the energy you expend in provoking your mother into hunting down a husband, you’d have twenty men begging to marry you.”
Her spirits seemed to droop. “I already have that. But you know how Mama is. Until you are off the table, she won’t allow me to accept a lesser man’s suit.” She wagged her finger at him. “So will you please get married? To anyone other than me? Or I shall surely die an old maid.”
“That will never happen to you, and we both know it.” He narrowed his gaze on her. “Wait a minute—is there someone in particular you have your eye on?”
Her blush alarmed him. Vanessa had terrible taste in men.
“Who is he?” he demanded.
She tipped up her chin. “I’m not going to tell you.”
“Because you know I’d disapprove, which means he’s entirely wrong for you.”
“He is not. He’s a poet.”
Damn. Vanessa needed to marry a poet about like he needed to learn to cook. Then again . . . “A famous poet?” he asked hopefully. If the fellow had money, it could work. Anyone who married Vanessa would need pots of money, if only to keep up with her gown purchases.
She turned and marched on to the drawing room. “He will be. With my support and encouragement.”
“God help us all.” He almost felt sorry for this poet, whoever he was. “I suppose your mother disapproves.”
“As if I would ever tell her,” she scoffed as she entered the drawing room.
Vanessa’s lady’s maid sat erect on the settee, her expression bland. No doubt she was used to being the foil to her volatile employer.
“Then things have not progressed to a serious interest,” Grey said, relieved not to have to deal with that, too. He was still hoping to get to Brierly’s club before the man left.
“How could things progress at all?” Vanessa picked up a teacake and devoured it with her usual gusto. “Mama is so focused on my marrying you that I cannot get her to bring me to events my . . . friend might attend.” She shot him a dire look. “And thanks to the latest on-dit about you, she’s on a tear again. She actually believes all that rot about your running a secret cabal of licentious bachelors.”
He snorted. “I’d never run anything so tiresome and predictable. I don’t have the time or inclination for it, and that level of discretion requires too much effort to maintain, people being who they are. I hope you told her I’d rather focus my energy on my estates.”
“I did. She didn’t believe me. She never does.”
“Yet she sent you over here to engage the leader of this secret cabal of debauchery. She makes no sense.”
“The gossip only made her more eager to marry me off to you. Hmm.”
“She’s probably afraid I’ll spend all my wealth on ‘licentious’ living before you can grab me and my dukedom for our progeny.”
“Or she thinks that a man with such ungoverned desires would be easy to manipulate. She ought to know you better than that. I certainly do. There isn’t a single ungoverned thing about you.” Vanessa tapped her finger on her chin.
“Then again, there’s another possibility—that Mama started the rumor about the cabal herself.”
“To what end?”
“By making you sound unappealing, she hopes to eliminate my competition.”
“I hate to tell you, my dear, but rumors of a man’s wickedness rarely seem to eliminate the competition. If that was your mother’s plan, it’s a foolish one. And it proves my opinion about gossip: Rumors are nothing more than entertainment for the
bored. If people in society would put a tenth of the energy they expend in—”
“I know, I know—we’re all frivolous, with not a whit of usefulness between us,” she said archly. “You’re the only one with any sense.”
When her maid looked as if she might explode with holding in a laugh, he shot Vanessa a rueful glance. “Do you think me as pompous and arrogant as all that, pet?”
“Worse.” Then she softened the accusation with a smile. “And on that note, I shall leave you.” Her maid cleared her throat, and Vanessa said, “Oh, I almost forgot! I have this for you.” She fished a sealed letter out of her reticule. “It came to us rather than you. Which is curious. Perhaps your mother heard you hadn’t been here in weeks. Though why she thought we would see you any more often is anyone’s guess.”
He ignored the sudden tightness in his chest. “You know perfectly well why.”
With a sigh, Vanessa stepped nearer to speak in a low voice meant only for his ears. “Must you still punish your mother?”
“Don’t be nonsensical,” he said lightly, to hide the guilt that swamped him. “I’m not punishing her. Besides, she has her other children to keep her company. She doesn’t need me fawning over her.”
Vanessa sniffed. “As if you would ever fawn over anyone. And yes, you are punishing her, whether you admit it or not.”
The pity shining in Vanessa’s eyes made him regret having said anything about his mother.
He reached for the letter, but Vanessa wouldn’t release it. “She does love you, you know.”
“I do.” What else could he say? He loved her, too, in his own way.
Grey started to shove the letter into his coat pocket, then paused. The missive seemed awfully thin for one of Mother’s. With a sense of dread, he opened it to find the briefest of messages:
My dearest Grey,
I regret to inform you that your stepfather has passed away. The funeral is at Armitage Hall on Tuesday.
With much love,
Mother
P.S. Please come. I can’t do this without you.
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