Duke of Debauchery

He met his cousin’s gaze, unflinching. “She is the woman I want at my side. The one I want as my duchess. It is to be her or no one else.

In the end, she simply sighed, shaking her head as if he were a hopeless cause. “Surely you realize that a lady wants to be married for more important reasons than the procuring of heirs.

Romantic love is absolutely a maggot,” he countered, glancing back at his cousin once more. “It will inevitably spoil whatever it has infected.” “With such romantic sentiments, one must wonder at your difficulty in ensnaring Miss Lethbridge,” Searle said cuttingly. “I would have expected her to be swooning at your feet by now. Whatever is the matter with her?” “To the devil with you,” he said without heat. “You do not think me fool enough to call love a maggot to her directly, do you? Despite my opinion of such an impossible emotion, I will not lie to her. I am who I am, and she knows it. Indeed, I expect that is the reason for her reluctance.” “Her reluctance or her refusal?” Searle was knowing. Damn him. “Both,” he bit out.

Forgive me. I was distracted by the books.

He stared at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. “Hattie. You felt it, too, did you not? The rightness between us cannot be denied.

You cannot spare a few minutes?” his mother pressed. “I am worried about you, Montrose.” He laughed at her pronouncement. A bitter and deep laugh, no levity in it at all. “You are about twenty years too late in worrying about me, Mother.

For a brief, desperate moment, she wished she could begin anew, that her memories were as locked away as her brother’s. Because she had secretly loved the Duke of Montrose for as long as she could remember. Loving him did not mean she was going to allow herself to become his next victim, however. The duke collected hearts. He was reckless and wild, broken and jaded and cruel. He was driven by demons only he could see. And she had no wish to fall headlong into his darkness.