Lord Love a Duke (38 page)

Jonas raised himself up on his arms to
search her face. “Truly, Jules, you have no regrets?” he asked
earnestly, his expression at once serious and even somewhat
fearful. She looked deeply into his bold, blue eyes before
bestowing on him a brilliant smile.

“I will admit to feeling regret at the looby
pranks we attempted, but never their outcome, Your Grace. I am so
utterly happy, so blissfully content that I am most likely
sickening to be around.” She paused and raised both hands to cup
his face. “You have ruined me, Your Grace. I find that I am solely
purposed to be your wife.” She lowered her lids to stare at him
languidly behind her heavily-lashed eyes.

He looked down into the face of his
beautiful wife and felt a rush of pride and love, along with a
healthy amount of lust. “You do remember what happens when you
address me with my title, do you not?” he asked huskily, grabbing
her wrists and raising them to above her head on the pillow.

“I do,” she smiled wickedly in return, “and
am counting on it.”

He dropped his head until his mouth brushed
hers in the barest of kisses. “How I love you,” he whispered
against her lips.

“And I love you,” she replied, already
breathless in her anticipation. “Your Grace.”

The End

Thank you, gentle reader,
for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet the characters
that live in my little world. I hope you have enjoyed getting to
know them as much as I have. Please consider leaving a review at
your point of purchase or Goodreads at
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18680920-lord-love-a-duke
.
We authors cherish the feedback and rely on your good words to help
others learn about our stories. You may also contact me personally
at
[email protected]
. I read and respond to all my emails, so ask any questions or
make any observations. I would love to hear from you!

When I began to write about Jonas and
Juliet, I wanted to tell a love story, about a love that came from
essentially nowhere and blindsided them both. I threw in some
trickery and scheming, but their blossoming love for each other was
my theme. And while the peers, homes, and locations used in my
story are real, the names and historical details are complete
fiction, solely the written figments of my imagination.

I am blessed to have a
terrific support team which helped me bring this novel to
publication. Huge thanks and more go out to Kathy and Wanda, my
proofreader and editor, who (hopefully) caught every split
infinitive and misplaced modifier that slipped past an author who
already had the best of editorial intentions. I cannot thank my
beta readers, Doreen, Julia, and Lisa, enough for their ruthless
quest for anachronisms and clich
é
s, as well as the good ol' typo and
grammar goof. An author may write alone, but she publishes with the
aid of an army. If any errors managed to sneak into the story, rest
assured, they are my fault alone.

My beautiful cover is the
work of the talented Lily Smith at
www.coversbylily.com
. I
wanted to crawl inside and live at Edgecliff after seeing her cover
art, and I thank her for sharing her talent and time with
me.

I would be remiss if I did not also thank
the Bard, William Shakespeare, for his wonderful writings that lent
themselves well to quotes that set the stage and tone for each
chapter of the story.

On a personal note, I could do nothing
without the support of my family. I am surrounded by boys, but they
all understand and applaud my efforts, even if it is, as my
youngest states, “a kissing book.” Thank goodness my husband
believes you can never have too much kissing.

Author
Ren
é
e Reynolds
grew up all over the world as the daughter of a globe-trotting
Marine father and spirited and supportive mother. Their family
motto was you can never learn too much, travel too much, or talk
too much.

She majored in majors in college, and after
obtaining a host of degrees she decided not to use any of them and
instead writes about what she cannot do - go back in time to dance
at balls, flirt with lords, gentlemen, and scoundrels, and gallop
unfashionably down Rotten Row during the most fashionable hour.

After dodging a few
Collinses and Wickhams, Ren
é
e
happily
snared a Darcy. Her HEA turned out to be in Texas, where she
resides with "the hubs, the kiddos, a boisterous menagerie of
indoor and outdoor animals, and a yard of meticulously maintained
weeds." She has happily tagged on this addendum to the family
motto: you can never read too much, too often, or too late at
night.

Catch up with
Ren
ée on Facebook at
https://www.facebook.com/obstinate.headstronggirl.5
or T
witter
@eenayray.
Her further musings and mischief
can also be found on her blog at
www.obstinateheadstronggirl.wordpress.com
.

Please continue for a preview of Renée
Reynolds' second book in the Lords of Oxford Series

A Marquis for All Seasons

the adventures, and misadventures, of Lady
Miranda Leighton and Roman de Courtenay, Marquis of
Stafford

“Madam, you would do well to cease this
topic of conversation,” growled Roman de Courtenay, Marquis of
Stafford, “for it is in the best interest of your health.”

“And you would do well to speak with
condescension and respect, my son, and heed my words. You need a
wife!” his mother all but screeched before checking herself,
fluttering a dainty hand about her neck. “Your friend has now
married. The same friend who is of an age with you. The same friend
you vouchsafed to me was not of a mind to marry. Nothing should
impede you now. I declare again, you need a wife!” This last vow
was made with more decorum and less volume, but was no less earnest
than the first.

T'was the same thing she said to him at
their nearly every private meeting of late: get a wife. Sometimes
it was merely a brief toss of the notion; more often it was a
voluble and voluminous harangue of duty, necessity, and most
importantly, heirs. If only his friend, the Duke of Dorset, had not
married, his mother would not have flown so precipitously to the
boughs and began to dream of weddings, grandchildren, and a new
Marchioness.

“I need nothing other than your promise to
desist this unholy quest of yours. You have made your opinion
abundantly clear and with unerring frequency. I have taken note of
your words, weighed their relevancy, or lack thereof in this
instance, then applied my thoughts toward other matters. So should
you.”

He watched his mother take in a deep breath,
every inch the Marchioness, and he mentally braced himself. It was
evidently harangue day in Stafford House. He cast his gaze about
the room in search of something with which to occupy his mind
during her diatribe. He settled for an inordinately focused study
of the pattern in the Aubusson rug when he belatedly noticed the
unexpected and highly unnatural quiet of the room. He raised his
eyes suddenly and met the very shrewd and determined stare of his
mother.

“We are of course in disagreement over this
issue so I propose we find some common ground. Let us strike a
bargain, therefore, in the care of your family. I say you need a
wife while you say nay; on this we cannot meet. I say you need an
heir, while you cry off and claim cousin Eustace as such. It is
your manner of saying that imbecile's name with a straight face
that gives me true cause for alarm. You imply his hands would be
just so in taking care of your mother and sisters. If this you
truly believe then I shall call on our solicitor to begin
commitment papers on you immediately.” The Marchioness barely
paused to draw another deep breath. “You seem to care naught for
the title or the responsibilities to estate and name that you
carry, but I find I must beg you take greater interest in the
security of your most immediate family. It would not do for us to
be beholden to Eustace for anything, the least of which be our food
and shelter.”

Roman's breath hitched at the validity of
her remarks. She was correct. Eustace was thick-headed and selfish,
a most lethal combination in any gentleman but of significant
detriment to the future solvency of the marquisate. Her accusations
were pointed and her aim true, and she had drawn blood in this
round. He took a few steps away from her, toward the window
overlooking their garden, so she could not pick up on the scent of
the wound she had inflicted.

“Mother, I assure you I would not leave you
without prospects should I expire in an untimely manner.” This was
a complete fabrication, for he had done just that. He had no true
idea what provisions lay in the estate plans. While he met weekly
with his man of business and read every report from his stewards,
that was the extent of his attentions to the title. He would
rectify that this very afternoon, if possible. She had upset his
equilibrium and he waffled back to the course from which he had
sought to distract her. “And I do not plan to avoid marriage
forever, just for the foreseeable future. There is no rush. All is
well.”

“All is not well, you ungrateful child! I
call you such for it is exactly appropriate: you think only of
yourself while you ignore the title, pawn your responsibilities off
on your stewards, and subsist only on what interests you. Your
negligence leaves me the responsibilities for running our
household, rather than your wife, as it should be. You had not the
obligation to launch your elder sister whilst your father lived,
and he did a most excellent job, leaving a fitting example for you
to follow. Your younger sister is out this Season, as you know, and
I have been left adrift to chaperone and deflect improper
attentions. Rowena matched quickly and well; I fear Rosalind will
not be so amenable to a calm and sensible suitor. This is badly
done, Stafford, and you know it! You shame your father's name! You
shame us all.” The last was uttered with a small cry as his mother
tucked a handkerchief to her mouth and swiveled in her seat to turn
her back on him.

Roman felt profound regret as the full
weight of her accusations fell on his chest, a newfound and
unwelcome shame taking root. He sank into a chair, suddenly weary.
Rowena, his elder sister by three years, did marry well, and had
been happily settled with her Earl for over ten years. Rosalind,
the youngest de Courtenay sibling at eighteen, lacked the docility
and modesty of her sister and was instead willful, to put it
mildly. He
had
neglected his duties and failed to consider
the heavy burden of worry and responsibility it had placed on his
mother's shoulders. Shoulders that were looking decidedly drooped
and frail of a sudden. His sigh was loud and tinged with
regret.

“You are correct, Mother,” he confessed,
causing the Marchioness to spin back around. “I am sufficiently
chastened. I will endeavor to be more circumspect in my duties,” he
stressed.

“
All
duties, my lord? Even those
pertaining only to your own future happiness?” she queried, turning
on her perch on the settle to face him, her gaze piercing in its
directness.

Another loud and heavy sigh blanketed the
room. “Just so,” he acquiesced with a sense of foreboding and
doom.

The twitch of her lips was slight, and the
flash of triumph in her eyes was but brief, but Roman thanked his
heavenly Maker that he saw them both, else he would have fallen
irrevocably and irretrievably into her trap.
His mother was a
wily one
, he thought derisively. It had been nearly a month
since their last confrontation and the lack of practice had made
him vulnerable, but he was back on the mark now. So that was how
she meant to play it this time: draw him into a marriage contract
under the guise of helping everyone else in the family, thus taking
the focus off the noose around his neck and placing it on the
others for whom he had responsibility.
Clever woman
. He cast
a calculating look her direction. She responded with a look of
total innocence as she straightened in her seat, arranging her
skirts and picking an imaginary piece of lint from her sleeve.

He rose from his seat and walked again to
the window, watching as the world went about its normal day. His
mind raced quickly through possible scenarios of distraction when a
carriage with a familiar ducal seal stopped in front of the house.
He smiled slightly when he saw Her Grace, Juliet Leighton, alight
from the equipage. Jonas had done very well for himself. The new
duchess was both beautiful and brilliant, and the love between the
two was unfashionably apparent. Lady Miranda alighted next, eyes
sparkling and curls bouncing as she moved with her new sister
toward his door. His smiled again as he thought about the handful
that was Jonas' sister. Her shenanigans had inadvertently led to
the most-talked about match of the Season. He silently thanked his
Maker that his sisters were not so high-spirited or bold when
sudden inspiration ran through his mind.