#RomanceWednesday has the Duke met his match? 

Elizabeth Hoyt
Author Book List

A MAN OF SIN

Devastatingly handsome. Vain. Unscrupulous. Valentine Napier, the Duke of Montgomery, is the man London whispers about in boudoirs and back alleys. A notorious rake and blackmailer, Montgomery has returned from exile, intent on seeking revenge on those who have wronged him. But what he finds in his own bedroom may lay waste to all his plans.

A WOMAN OF HONOR

Born a bastard, housekeeper Bridget Crumb is clever, bold, and fiercely loyal. When her aristocratic mother becomes the target of extortion, Bridget joins the Duke of Montgomery's household to search for the incriminating evidence-and uncovers something far more dangerous.

A SECRET THAT THREATENS TO DESTROY THEM BOTH

Astonished by the deceptively prim-and surprisingly witty-domestic spy in his chambers, Montgomery is intrigued. And try as she might, Bridget can't resist the slyly charming duke. Now as the two begin their treacherous game of cat and mouse, they soon realize that they both have secrets-and neither may be as nefarious-or as innocent-as they appear . . .

Excerpt

Val threw down his knife and fork with a clatter. “Explain it to me, this thing, love. Why would a perfectly intelligent girl want to marry a man so beneath her? She could take him as a lover if she wanted—I certainly wouldn’t care. Why marry the fellow?”

Mrs. Crumb carefully placed her fork and knife upon her plate and folded her hands in her lap. She turned to face him. “Love is the best of all human emotion. It separates us from the beasts and brings us closer to God and to heaven. There is no greater gift than love between a man and a woman.”

He looked at her a moment, studying her earnest expression, and then grinned. “You’ve never loved a man, have you?”

She pursed her lips, looking not a little irritated. “No.”

He took up his knife and fork again, feeling more cheerful. “A woman?”

“Pardon, Your Grace?”

He waved his knife, a bit of the beef skewered on the end. “Have you ever loved a woman?”

She pursed her lips and for a moment he thought they’d have another round of tedious prevarication. Then she sighed—audibly this time. “I was fond of my mother but I doubt that is what you mean. I’ve never loved another woman romantically.”

He smiled and ate the bite of beef. She came from the country. Yet she was rather more sophisticated than he’d first thought her.

“Then…” She stared at him very seriously, almost shyly. “You’ve never loved another?”

“Good God, no.”

“Not even your intended fiancée?”

He threw back his head and laughed at the very thought. “No. Oh, no. I think that one must have some essential part to love.”

She knit her black brows again, quite severely, and the resemblance to some stern saint was very strong. “What part?”

He shrugged, twirling his fork in the air as he thought. “I don’t know? A belief in goodness and God? Or maybe godliness? Perhaps innocence?” He smiled and looked at her. “In any case, whatever that essential thing is, I don’t have it in me. I never had it.”

Her brows were level. Her dark eyes intent on him. He might be the only man in the world to her right now. Oh, heady, erotic thought. “Never? Not even when you were a child?”

He shook his head slowly, aware of the soul-deep blackness that had seeped into his skin, been driven through his muscles, and embedded in his very bones. “Not even in the womb.”

He rarely told the truth—why bother? It was so dull—but when he did, most mistook it for jest.

She did not.

She looked at him soberly, and despite her martyr’s eyes, she seemed to make no judgment of him, which, if nothing else, was refreshing.

He leaned a little forward and took her chin, her skin soft and warm under his fingers. Alive. Human. Womanly.

Her dark eyes widened.

“Now, you, Mrs. Crumb, you aren’t like me at all. You have that part, whatever it is. You can love, which raises the question: Why haven’t you?”

She made a movement, like a mare trying to shake a bridle, but he held her, squeezing her face tightly. Perhaps he even left bruises.

He enjoyed that thought, imprinting his fingertips on her face for all to see.

“Why, my gentle housekeeper?”

Her nostrils flared and she stilled, glaring at him. “I like my job. I like doing as I please. Falling in love with a man would inconvenience me, Your Grace.”

He caught his breath in admiration. “How very practical of you, Mrs. Crumb.”

He drew her forward, making her half rise, his gaze fixed on that wet, reddened mouth and her angry dark eyes, his cock beating, bold and insistent, against the placket of his breeches. Perhaps he’d mark her further. Perhaps he’d see to what depths a saint could fall.

On the Path to Redemption?

Who will win in this crafty and cruel game of bait and blackmail?

A story about a seriously sexy scoundrel!

Start Reading DUKE OF SIN Now

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