Lady Rose Danvers enters the notorious masquerade ball, preparing to seduce the one man she has loved all of her life. Her fascination with Grey has intensified after her father's scandalous death. Grey plucked Rose and her mother from instant poverty and has stood by them as society turns their back on the Danvers. Rose chooses to ignore Grey's vow that he will never marry. If she concentrates on the negatives, Rose cannot have the future she desires.
For years Greyden Kane, the Duke of Ryeton, has shunned society after a vicious attack left him disfigured. Society deems it justice for all the broken hearts and cuckold husbands he left in his wake. Grey isolates himself as guilt consumes him over his previous callus behavior. He allows one joy and that is sponsoring Rose back into society. After vowing to her father that he would never touch Rose, Grey hides his lustful passion for her, until the night he succumbs to her mad scheme.
Self-denial and nobility prompt Grey to push Rose away and demand she find a better man. But Rose knows what she wants and is willing to fight for it. However, Grey must regain his self-respect before Rose can win his heart.
It is a joy to welcome Ms. Smith back to the historical romance fold. She excels at writing provocative characters that have a multitude of sins and taking them on a bumpy journey toward redemption and happiness. Grey and Rose are no exception and they will remain in readers' thoughts long after closing the book.
Enchant. Tempt. Entice. Beguile. Just a few things a woman must do when seducing a duke . . . Rose Danvers charms her way into the glittering masked ball with only one man on her mind. She would risk certain scandal for a kiss from Greyden Kane, Duke of Ryetonβthough she lusts for much, much more . . .
The ravishing woman in burgundy takes Grey's breath away. She reminds him of the sheltered beauty entrusted to his care, the only one who has ever touched his icy heart. But Rose would never allow herself to be so indiscreet, so ruled by passion . . .
Believing their forbidden embrace a terrible mistake, Grey knows he must do the honorable thing and find Rose a husband. But Rose will not be pawned off for propriety's sake. She will not rest until her seduction is complete and she has the duke bedded, wedded, and deeply satisfied. All he has to do is say yes . . .
What the hell was he doing? He asked himself this very same question every time he came here. And he never liked the answer.
He was here because he wanted what he couldn't have β what he had promised to never touch. Would never dream of defiling.
Laughter echoed in his ears β loud and unwelcome. It stirred memories of that night long ago when he'd felt cold steel lay open the steaming warmth of his cheek. It reminded him that he was alone while more than a hundred people gathered beneath him, just out of his reach. He didn't like people, and that feeling only intensified when they gathered in groups like vultures hovering over a dying stag.
If he didn't find her soon, he would have to leave. Find relief in more auspicious and unsavory environs.
And then, like the answer to a prayer he'd never uttered, he spied her.
Grey leaned forward in the box, fingers curling around the smooth, cool brass rail. There, in the glittering meadow of hothouse flowers was a wild bloom of a woman who quite literally robbed him of all breath.
Time ground to a halt, as did the beating of his heart.
She wore a low cut gown the same vibrant burgundy of a rose just past first bloom. The tiny sleeves were trimmed with the same bronze lace that flitted around the rest of the gown, and sat low on her creamy round shoulders. From where he stood β when had he left his chair? β he could see the deep valley of her cleavage, the swells of her beautiful breasts flushed under the chandeliers.
The snug bodice of her gown hugged her across the ribs, nipped in sharply at the waist and then flared over hips and a backside that didn't need the little flouncy bustle to draw his attention there.
His gaze lifted, and his heart began to beat once more as he took in the coffee darkness of her hair shimmering with the faintest hint of copper beneath the twinkling light. Her skin was the right shade of ivory, her hair the correct color and thickness, twisted into a high, loose knot. Beneath the bronze lace mask her nose had just the right tilt, and her mouth--her mouth was ripe and plump, just begging to be kissed.
Christ in heaven. If he didn't know better he'd swear this woman β this dream β was truly Rose.
But it couldn't be. Rose was a single young woman. She would never come there alone, and no one who knew her would bring such a gently bred young woman to a masked ball meant for seduction. Everyone familiar with Saint's Row knew what happened at these private functions. And there was no way a lady as sheltered and removed from London as Rose Danvers could ever pass through these doors. No, this wasn't Rose, but she was as close a twin as he could ever imagine β ever hope to find.
And he'd be damned if he'd stand there any longer, staring like an idiot and give some other man a chance to have her.
© 2003-2026