Avon
Featuring: Hugh Philemon Ancaster, Duke of Ripley; Olympia
400 pages ISBN: 0062457381 EAN: 9780062457387 Kindle: B06XFCPWZP Mass Market Paperback / e-Book Add to Wish List
Luscious Lucius, the Duke of Ashmont, was getting married,
to the astonishment of the haut ton. "His Grace with the
Angel Face", and one-third of Their Dis-Graces, was to wed
Lady Olympia Hightower, deemed "The Most Boring Girl of
the Season" seven years in a row. Olympia is sensible and
practical: she has six brothers, a father who couldn't
manage money if his life depended on it, and pecuniary
matters are rather distressing at the moment. Rather than
marry her only other suitor, an ancient scholar with a
magnificent library -- Olympia is enamored of books -- she
accepted Ashmont's proposal, which did come as a shock to
her as well. The dissolute reprobate has been acting the
perfect gentleman, so perhaps all is not a complete loss. On
the morning of her wedding day, however, Olympia has started
guzzling brandy in an alarming way; those wedding jitters
have become impossible to ignore, and she bolts out the
window. Ashmont's friend, the Duke of Ripley, glimpses
white fabric in the window. Should he go after Olympia and
inflict Ashmont on her, or let her run away from what will
surely be an epic disaster and a farce of a marriage? Well,
friendship prevails, and Ripley vows to bring Olympia back
to her groom. What ensues is surely the funniest historical
romance I have ever read, and one of the most genuinely
funny book I have ever read, regardless of the genre!
Stories about women taming the bad boy abound, well folks,
this is one for the ages! A DUKE IN SHINING ARMOR is epic!
Loretta Chase's sparkling sense of humour dazzles while her
astonishing eloquence paints images of unparalleled clarity
in what is one of this year's best books. The dialogues are
extraordinarily witty, and the tone and the language are
beyond compare; the writing is exquisite; the pace lively
and the characters are stupendous literary creations. Those
are a lot of adjectives, you say, and deservedly so.
The scene with the mechanical chair is so uproariously
hilarious, that I believe that A DUKE IN SHINING ARMOR could
be read only for that sequence, and it would be worth it.
What is even more amazing is that this constitutes the
turning point in the relationship between Olympia and
Ripley. Aside from the hilarity though, the romance is
marvelous; I believed in every gesture and every word
emanating from every character. I could not say enough about
the characters; how alive and believable they are; how
complex and fascinating, and how truly formidable Olympia
is, and how really rakish those Dukes are. There was only a
very minor thing that puzzled me, and it has nothing to do
with the book at hand was that A DUKE IN SHINING ARMOR felt
like the second book in a series, which had me searching
frantically for the book I had missed. The Duke of
Blackwood's "taming" seems to have occurred previously,
although the wedding bliss appears to be fading, so I gather
this is for the future. For the time being, I wish that
Ashmont's story will be gracing our shelves sooner rather
than later, because a very special lady has her work cut out
with this rake! A DUKE IN SHINING ARMOR is a
stellar debut to a new series that promises to be
phenomenal! Bring on those dissolute Dukes, Ms. Chase!
Not all dukes are created equal. Most are upstanding
members of Society. And then there’s the trio known as Their
Dis-Graces.
Hugh Philemon Ancaster, seventh Duke of Ripley, will never
win prizes for virtue. But even he draws the line at running
off with his best friend’s bride. All he’s trying to do is
recapture the slightly inebriated Lady Olympia Hightower and
return her to her intended bridegroom.
For reasons that elude her, bookish, bespectacled Olympia is
supposed to marry a gorgeous rake of a duke. The
ton is flabbergasted. Her family’s ecstatic. And
Olympia? She’s climbing out of a window, bent on a getaway.
But tall, dark, and exasperating Ripley is hot on her trail,
determined to bring her back to his friend. For once, the
world-famous hellion is trying to do the honorable thing.
So why does Olympia have to make it so deliciously difficult
for him . . . ?
Excerpt
Newland House, KensingtonLate forenoon of 11 June 1833
If the bride was drunk—which she wasn't—it was on account of
celebrating.
In a very little while, Lady Olympia Hightower was going to
make all of her family's dreams come true.
Hers, too, most of them.
She would become the Duchess of Ashmont.
Teetering on the brink of six and twenty, she ought to thank
her lucky stars she'd won the heart . . . admiration
. . . something . . .
. . . of one of England's three most notorious libertines, a
trio of dukes known as Their Dis-Graces.
She narrowed her eyes at the looking glass. Behind
gold-rimmed spectacles, eyes of a can't-make-up-their-mind
grey-blue-green took a moment to focus on the grandeur that
was her. She. Whatever. Elaborate side curls of a
commonplace brown framed her heart-shaped face. An intricate
arrangement of plaits, topped by a great blossom of pleated
lace adorned with orange blossoms, crowned her head. A blond
lace veil cascaded over her bare shoulders, down over the
full, lace-covered sleeves and on past her waist.
She looked down at herself.
Four knots marched down to the V of the waistline. Below
that swelled full skirts of brocaded silk. A great waste of
money, which would have been better spent on Eton for
Clarence or a cornetcy for Andrew or something for one of
the boys. Apart from his heir—Stephen, Lord Ludford—the Earl
of Gonerby had five sons to support, a subject to which he'd
given no thought whatsoever. His mind, unlike his
daughter's, was not practical.
Thus her present predicament. Which wasn't a predicament at
all. So everybody said. There was nothing predicamental
about being a duchess. In any event, practicality had
nothing to do with this bridal extravaganza. The money must
be thrown away on Olympia, on a single dress, because,
according to Aunt Lavinia, it was an investment in the future.
A duchess-to-be couldn't wear any old thing to her wedding.
The bridal ensemble had to be expensive and fashionable,
though not flamboyantly so, because a duchess-to-be ought to
look expensively fashionable, though not flamboyantly so.
After the wedding was another matter entirely. A duchess
could pour the entire contents of her jewel boxes over
herself and never be overdressed. With a few adjustments, a
different arrangement on her head, and more diamonds or
pearls or both, Olympia would wear the dress to the next
Drawing Room, when her mother or perhaps Aunt Lavinia, the
Marchioness of Newland, would present the new Duchess of
Ashmont to the Queen.
That wasn't all that would happen after the wedding. There
was the wedding night, which, according to Mama, would not
be unpleasant, although she'd been rather vague regarding
details. But after the wedding night came the marriage,
years and years of it. To Ashmont.
The about-to-be Duchess of Ashmont picked up the cup of
brandy-laced tea Lady Newland had brought to steady bridal
nerves. The cup was empty.
"Do not even think of bolting," her aunt had said when she
delivered the doctored tea.
Certainly not. Too late for that, even if Olympia had been
the sort of girl who backed down or ran away from anything,
let alone the chance of a lifetime. She had six brothers.
Being the second eldest child counted for nothing with boys.
It was dominate or be dominated.
Some said she was rather too dominating, for a girl.
But that wouldn't matter when she became a duchess.
She bent and retrieved from under the dressing table the
flask of brandy she'd stolen from Stephen. She unstopped it,
brought it to her mouth, and tipped in what she gauged as a
thimbleful. She stopped it again, set it on the dressing
table, and told herself she was doing the right thing.
What was the alternative? Humiliate the bridegroom, who'd
done nothing—to Olympia, in any event—to deserve it?
Disgrace her family? Face permanent social ruin? And all on
account of what? The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach,
which surely was nothing more than the usual wedding-day
anxiety.
Only a lunatic would run away from becoming the bride of one
of the kingdom's handsomest, richest, most powerful men, she
told herself. That was to say, Ashmont could be powerful, if
he'd bother, but he . . .
She lost her train of thought because somebody tapped at the
door. "Please," she said. "I'm praying."
She'd insisted on time alone. She needed to collect herself
and prepare for this immense change in her life, she'd told
her mother and aunt. They'd looked at each other, then left.
Soon thereafter, Aunt Lavinia had returned with the doctored
tea.
"Ten minutes, dear," came her mother's voice from the corridor.
Ten minutes already?
Olympia unstopped the flask again and took another sip.
Nearly six and twenty, she reminded herself. She'd never get
an offer like this one, ever again. It was a miracle she'd
got this one. And she'd known what she was doing when she
said yes. True, Lucius Wilmot Beckingham, the sixth Duke of
Ashmont, was a bit of an ass, and so immature he made
nine-year-old Clarence look like King Solomon. And yes, it
went without saying that His Grace would be unfaithful.
But Ashmont was handsome, and he could charm a girl witless
when he set his mind to it, and he'd definitely set his mind
to charming her. He seemed to like her. And it wasn't as
though any great shocks were in store for her. His character
was well known to anybody who read the gossipy parts of the
fashionable periodicals.
The important thing was, he'd asked. And she was desperate.
"A duchess," she told the looking glass. "You can
practically change the world, or at least part of it. It's
as close as a woman can come to being a man, unless she
becomes the Queen—and no mere consort either, but Queen in
her own right. Even then . . . Oh, never mind. It's not
going to happen to you, my girl."
Somewhere in Olympia's head or maybe her heart or her
stomach, a snide little voice, exactly like her cousin
Edwina's, said, "The Love of a Lifetime is never going to
happen to you, either. No Prince Charming on his white
charger will come for you. Not even a passionate lord. Or a
shop clerk, for that matter."
She suffocated the voice, as she had wished, many times, to
suffocate Cousin Edwina. The Olympia who'd entertained
fantasies of princes and passionate gentlemen had been a
naive creature, head teeming with novel-fed romantic
fantasies as she embarked on her first London Season. For
seven years, she'd been voted Most Boring Girl of the
Season. In seven years, she'd received not a single offer.
That was to say, she'd received no offer any young lady in
her right mind, no matter how desperate, would accept or, as
had happened in the case of an elderly suitor, would be
allowed to accept. And so, when Ashmont had asked, what
could she say?
She could say no, and face a future as an elderly spinster
dependent on brothers who could barely support themselves
and their own families. Or she could say yes and solve a
great many problems at once. It was as simple as that. No
point in making it complicated.
She took another sip of brandy. And another.
There came louder and more impatient tapping at the door.
"It's the right thing to do and I'm going to do it," she
whispered to her reflection, "because somebody has to."
She took another swig.
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