Loving the Duke

By Jessie Clever

Instead of proposing marriage to the woman he loved, Stephen Marley was hiding in an apple orchard.

To any onlooker, he would appear consumed by his task, diligent even, in his assessment of the trees he had carefully nurtured over the past seven years in the sweeping plain of coastal soil, rich in nutrients from the sea and the wind.

But anyone with a keen eye would quickly realize Stephen had conducted the same inspection the previous day whilst also avoiding proposing to the woman he loved.

Dinsmore Castle and the dukedom of Greyfair would be known for their exquisite apple crops, and Stephen Marley would die a bachelor.

He made his way down the row of Sweet Alford until he reached the cross section where they’d planted a row of Backwell Red in experimentation. This type of apple had quickly become their most sought after crop, and they’d been forced to find another portion of the coastal plain in which to plant. He turned left, heading deeper inland and to the heart of the orchard where if he stood perfectly still, he heard only the sound of the distant sea, the rustle of the apple trees around him, and the beat of his own heart.

He walked quickly, moving deeper into the trees. As the muscles in his right foot tightened with each step, he marveled at how quickly the orchards had grown. What had started as a few trees planted within the sheltering walls of Dinsmore Castle had soon expanded beyond anything he could have imagined.

When he’d first had the idea to increase their apple yield, he had pictured it as another revenue source for the estate, jobs for the villagers and tradesmen. He’d never imagined Dinsmore Castle and the dukedom of Greyfair would become the largest supplier of apples to the nation’s cider industry.

He paused briefly, fingering the delicate leaf of a Crimson King, remembering that day when he’d approached his cousin with his idea. Lucas, as usual, had been open to the plan, but he’d had one caveat. He wanted Stephen to take sixty-percent of the profits.

Stephen had rejected it, of course, The apple orchards were for the estate, but Lucas had insisted. At the time the new railroad spur line had just become operational, and the farmers on the estate were rushing to get their goods to the London markets. Revenue was up, farmers were thriving, which in turn boosted the economy in the village and the need for tradesmen to keep the farms running. Lucas was content to accept forty-percent of whatever the orchards brought in.

It came to be that forty-percent was a small fortune, and sixty percent fell somewhere between greed and gluttony. Even now Stephen couldn’t quite wrap his head around what had transpired. He’d been the cast off relation, the burden to the dukedom of Greyfair. Although his uncle and Lucas had never made him feel like a burden. It was simply hard not to when one had been sent from one’s home because of the unfortunate circumstance of being born with a twisted foot. How could Stephen have not thought of himself as a burden?

Until now.

Stephen’s head turned unconsciously to the north. Even from where he stood, he could see the open gable of the cottage, its three dormers standing guard along the prow.

Cottage.

He ran a hand over his face and looked away, a maelstrom of emotions coursing through him. Guilt, shame, unease.

He wasn’t yet comfortable in his own newly established role as the orchardist on the estate, and he certainly wasn’t used to the salary he brought in. He was suddenly a man of means and…house. He stared through the trees at the the dormers as if they mocked him. If he wasn’t comfortable with who he was now, how could he possibly expect the woman he loved to be as well?

He knew perfectly well why he was hiding, and it wasn’t because of the thought of proposing. He had already proposed three times after all. It was because every time he proposed, Ethel Jones gave him another reason for refusing him. And as he gazed at the open gable protruding along the tops of the trees, he wondered if he was headed toward yet another refusal, another excuse, and the worst part was, he really couldn’t blame her if she did.

Their courtship had always seemed impossible and yet inevitable at the same time. He could understand her reservations. She was a respected lady maid’s while he was the once impoverished and still disowned distant cousin to a duke. What had he to offer her? Any status he held now was made from trade, and while that wasn’t as frowned upon as it used to be, it wasn’t the same as being born with privilege or earning it through respectable work.

Of course, she made excuses. She had her future to worry about. Love could only take a person so far, and in the end, it was money and position that kept a person fed and warm. He had plenty of one and absolutely nothing of the other.

He gripped his crutch with resolve and headed in the direction of the house. He passed several grazing sheep along the way. The animals fed on the undergrowth in the orchards, keeping the trees healthy and prosperous. He was prone to stopping and admiring them at their work, how carefully they moved between rows, eating only what was necessary. But this time he didn’t linger.

When he stepped from between the rows of trees, the cottage soared up in front of him. The manifestation of Ethel’s last excuse for refusing him: where would they live?

It had been the gamekeeper’s cottage in another life of the estate, and Lucas had bade him use it when they’d first arrived at Dinsmore Castle so many years ago. Stephen had never taken his cousin up on the offer, preferring instead the room he’d found tucked under the eaves on the third floor of the newer portion of the castle. It was enough for a single man, and it had suited him well for years, but now…

His room under the eaves was no place for a wife, and it was certainly not a place where he could start a family. He’d approached the gamekeeper’s cottage after Ethel’s last refusal, intent to see just what sort of work it would need to be habitable again. Only a handful of months ago, it had been overgrown with ivy, shrinking into the forest around it so it seemed like nothing more than the cottage it was purported to be.

Using the wealth he had accumulated over the years from the apple harvests, he had hired a crew to restore it. The damn thing had turned out to be a palace. Once the ivy was removed, the bricks repointed, the shutters repaired, the glass replaced in the windows, and a fresh coat of paint slapped on the front door, the cottage turned out to be a three-story Federal style house with those three proud dormers reaching from its roof. It was breathtaking and beautiful. It radiated with splendor sending his gut into a spiral.

It was far more than he deserved.

Now he not only avoided proposing again, he avoided moving into the thing. Like everything else about him now, it just didn’t feel right.

His eyes dropped to the stone foundation, unease settling in his gut.

He didn’t deserve this. No matter that he’d lived his life with the Bennetts since he’d been discarded by his father, Stephen had never quite settled with the family. Despite their love and care, he still felt like an outsider, and now looking at that stone foundation of his cottage, he felt like a farce. For Stephen Marley didn’t have a foundation on which to stand. How could he ever think of marrying a woman like Ethel?

This grand house with its fine features and facade. Four whole bedrooms on the second floor without a slanted roof in sight. No cramped quarters here. No ducking under the eaves to retrieve the baby in its crib. No knocking his head against the rafters on his way to bed after a long day in the fields.

This was fine living, and he wondered what Ethel’s next excuse would be, unable to fight the feeling that she may be right.

“Even if you keep staring at it, it won’t get any bigger.”

When his cousin Lucas stepped up beside him, Stephen said, “I wager that’s not the first time you’ve said that.”

Lucas’s expression was nonplussed. “Amelia is looking for you,” he said.

Stephen couldn’t stop the flinch. Amelia, Lucas’s wife, had devised a scheme of exercises she forced Stephen to complete three times a week followed by a torturous administration of salve that left the twisted muscles of his right foot tingling and warm. The worst part about it was the regimen worked. In the three years she’d been forcing him to it, his foot had relaxed in some places and grown stronger in others. There was no cure, of course, but the appendage no longer pained him the way it once had. On his good days, he walked with only a cane, and if he didn’t plan on having to traverse the craggy orchards, he chose the cane instead because it gave him better freedom of movement.

His life had improved dramatically since Amelia had come to Dinsmore, but he wasn’t about to tell the Duchess of Greyfair that. He had a curmudgeonly reputation to uphold.

“And you are playing the role of her messenger boy, is that it?”

Lucas looked down, and Stephen’s entire body went rigid, like an involuntary response meant to keep him alive, his body reacted to his cousin in a supernatural way.

“Lucas?” Stephen prodded when his cousin didn’t answer immediately.

Finally Lucas raised his head. “No, not Amelia’s messenger boy. I’ve come with a message of my own.” He gestured back toward the causeway that led to the castle proper. “I thought it would be best if we spoke here where we’re less likely to be overheard.”

Stephen’s chest tightened. “Why is it that we shouldn’t be overheard?”

His cousin was dangerously transparent, and for him to seek subterfuge indicated a serious matter indeed.

But Lucas didn’t answer. Instead, he reached inside his coat, pulling a folded piece of paper from a pocket there. He extended it to Stephen, turning the paper over in his hand until it caught the light.

Stephen froze. His fingers clenched at his side, his crutch caught between his arm and his torso, unwilling to touch the letter offered him. For it was a letter. He knew that at once when his eyes fell on the familiar wax seal still clinging to the paper even though Lucas had pried it open to read the letter inside.

The seal depicted a shield and cross flanked by a pair of lions. Stephen had thought it too simple of a design for the title it represented, that of the Duke of Norfolk, the cousin to the very Queen of England herself.

Once, when Stephen was still quite young but old enough to have learned from his uncle where he had come from, Stephen had stolen into the library of their home in the middle of the night, not wishing for anyone to see what he was about, not wanting them to discover his weakness, and there he pulled down the tome that held all of the insignia of the titles of Great Britain. He looked up this very seal, wondering at its parts, wondering if he could ever belong to it.

He swallowed down the memory of the little boy looking for clues of his family in a darkened library and faced his cousin.

“Do you wish to read it or would you like me to tell you what it says?”

Stephen shook his head. “Just tell me what it says.”

Lucas swallowed, pulling back his hand and tucking the offending letter back into the pocket where he’d taken it from. “The duke is coming to Dinsmore. He claims to have heard of our success with the orchards and wishes to see it for himself.”

“Lies.” Stephen whispered the word in reaction more so than in thought.

Lucas nodded. “I know. The letter is only a guise. Stephen…” But his voice trailed off, so much left unsaid between them.

There was only one reason the Duke of Norfolk would travel all the way to the coast for a small estate like Dinsmore Castle, and it was a reason for which Stephen did not care. But what he hated more was the sudden surge of hope inside of him, the one he had thought long defeated. The hope that one day his family would come back for him.

Lucas waited a beat before saying, “You must tell her.” He patted his coat where the troublesome letter now rested once more inside his pocket. “Before the duke gets here. She’ll figure it out then for herself.” He waited another beat, licked his lips nervously. “Everyone will figure it out.”

Stephen stared at his cousin’s hand resting against his coat and that damn letter. Everyone would figure it out, and yet his jaw remained clenched shut against his secrets.

“When is he coming?” Stephen finally asked after some time.

“Within the fortnight,” Lucas said.

Stephen swore softly and looked away, back up at the cottage, which until a few moments ago had been the only obstacle standing between him and the woman he loved.

But now…

“A fortnight doesn’t give us much time to prepare. We’ll want to have the estate in pristine shape for a visit from the Queen’s cousin.” He was adept at telling his own lies.

Lucas didn’t speak, but then he would know not to. Stephen would string together as many words as possible if only to lengthen the distance between him and the truth.

The truth that revealed his greatest weakness. That he still longed for the family that abandoned him.

Stephen turned and studied the orchards behind him, listened to the birds and the breeze and the sound of his heart, thumping in his chest as every possibility thundered through his mind.

He would need to tell her. But how? A glance at the cottage reminded him of just how much stood between them, and he would be forced to add something else. Something they might not overcome.

“Does Amelia know?” He didn’t know why he asked the question. It was thinking of Ethel that overwhelmed him, and somehow he thought Amelia knowing the truth would help him.

But Lucas shook his head. “It’s not my secret to tell, cousin.”

No, it wasn’t. Only a handful of people knew the truth, and as the years went on, that number dwindled until now there were only three people who knew. Lucas, Stephen, and the Duke of Norfolk.

But when the man arrived at Dinsmore, suddenly everyone would know. It couldn’t be helped.

And with this thought came another. What did the Duke of Norfolk desire so badly that he would risk such an exposure of the greatest secret of the dukedom?

Lucas tapped his pocket again. “I’m sure he would have written directly to you, but you know how that would have complicated matters.” There was a pause, a heavy one, and then, “If anyone had found out.”

His cousin always had a polite way of saying things, and Stephen smiled now. “I know,” he said and gestured to the castle. “Tell Amelia I’ll be along shortly. I just want to wander through my trees for a bit longer.”

Lucas waited, but Stephen didn’t say anything more. Finally, his cousin reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You know Norfolk wouldn’t be coming here unless it was for good reason.”

Stephen met his gaze. “That’s the more worrisome part of it.”

Lucas’s eyes were clear and understanding, and Stephen knew no matter what, he’d have an ally in his cousin. He always had.

Lucas nodded, squeezed Stephen’s shoulder, and turned away, weaving through the trees in the direction of the castle.

Stephen stood there for some time, his fingers working the wood of his crutch absently. Lucas was right. Norfolk couldn’t have written Stephen directly with the news of his impending visit.

He couldn’t have because Stephen Marley didn’t exist.

The Earl She Ruined

The Atwood Sisters Book 3

On Sale October 20, 2022

She had never kidnapped an earl before.

She had never kidnapped anyone before for that matter, and she wasn’t sure if it were exhilarating or appallingly untidy. She leaned toward the latter especially after she’d tossed the pitcher of water on him.

He came up spluttering, which was to be expected. Getting doused with water had such an effect on a person. His reaction was likely amplified, however, as he wasn’t expecting a pitcher of water to be thrown on him when he entered his carriage, but it couldn’t have been helped. She needed him to be coherent when she stated her demands.

“What in God’s—” He stopped as he wiped the water from his eyes, blinking into the near darkness of their surroundings. “Lady Alice?” He spoke her name more softly, curiously. And then— “No.” He turned to the door, water spraying from his chin as he scrambled to catch hold of the handle, but the carriage was already in motion, and his hasty movements were futile.

“Lord Knighton, you have nothing to fear from me, I promise you.”

He gave up on the door and sat back, pressing himself against the opposite bench, arms splayed as if preparing for the rapture. “I think we may have differing viewpoints on that matter, my lady.”

“You have my word, my lord. I have no ill intentions. It’s only I have a proposition for you, and as an unwed lady, I was forced to take such extreme measures in order to have this conversation with you.” She set the empty pitcher aside and folded her hands delicately in her lap as if such a reasonable gesture might calm him. “If society didn’t insist on such arcane rules, I wouldn’t have resorted to such barbarity.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression not losing its wariness even as he surveyed her with obvious curiosity. “And I suppose the water was necessary as well?”

She glanced at the pitcher on the bench beside her. “I couldn’t have known whether or not you were inebriated, and I need your full attention for this conversation. The water was to rouse you to your senses.”

“I am not in the least inebriated, Lady Alice, but I’m rather regretting that now.”

She flexed her hands together and apart, willing her courage to hold. “I promise to be swift, my lord, and then you may return to your social schedule. I presume you’re on your way to a dalliance of some sort?” She could feel the muscles in her hands had begun to twitch, her fingers pulsing with the need to fidget, and she willed herself to hold still.

It had taken sheer bravado to steal into his carriage, and she was quickly learning bravado was an ephemeral creature, prone to flight at a moment’s notice. She swallowed and took a measured breath, willing her nerves to calm. She couldn’t give up now, and besides, emotion had nothing to do with this encounter. It was merely science which brought her to this man’s carriage in the middle of the night, and science was comfortingly cold and analytical.

His expression didn’t change at her words, but his eyes searched her face, the hint of curiosity remaining in his gaze. “I don’t believe my social schedule is any of your concern, my lady.”

His words stung, but he was right. She had no claim on this man. In fact, she’d only met him the week previous at her sister’s wedding. It wasn’t even as though he were an old friend of the family, which would have served to alleviate the oddness of the situation.

He was only Ransom Shepard, the Earl of Knighton, London’s most notorious rogue. A designation that made him perfect for her endeavors.

She straightened her shoulders against the bench at her back, her nerves settling as she remembered the reason she was there.

“You’re quite right. I do apologize. I’ve come to ask for your assistance, my lord.”

“I have no intention of marrying any time soon, Lady Alice, so if you believe by trapping me—”

She wrinkled her nose. “Who said anything about marriage?” She couldn’t think of a more appalling idea. It was all perfectly well for her sisters to wed, and really, it was most advantageous for them, and Alice wished them all the happiness they might find there. But no, marriage was not for her. It never had been.

Knighton’s death grip on the carriage eased, and his hands slipped from the upholstery to fall at his sides. “Isn’t that what this is about?”

“Good heavens, no. I have no intention of marrying as well. On that, we are agreed.”

His stricken expression dissolved then, his brow furrowing. “Then why on earth are you in my carriage? Tossing water on me no less.”

She tilted her head as if she were dealing with an unruly experiment. “I’ve already explained the water, my lord. As to the other, I should like your assistance with a matter that your reputation would suggest you have a great deal of experience in. As this endeavor is very important to me, I should only like the best in the field.”

“And what would this endeavor be?” “I should like you to seduce me.”

The Earl She Ruined

The Atwood Sisters Book 3

On Sale October 20, 2022

Ransom Shepard, the Earl of Knighton, has never known love. When his father died tragically young, his mother refused to care for Ransom, leaving him in the care of the help as she descended into the grief of losing her husband. Abandoned by the one person who should have loved him unconditionally, Ransom chose a life as far from love as possible. The life of a rogue, and one he’s lived with smashing success.

Until Lady Alice Atwood kidnaps him in his own carriage.

Alice disappointed her father by not being born a boy while at the same time she disappointed her mother by not aspiring to be a lady. Science was easier and safer, and after her parents’ death, she attempts to finally publish the work she has labored over in secret for years. Only to be rejected by the men who guard the very field in which she had once found comfort. But it wasn’t enough to simply reject her. They also condemned her for being unnatural, an accusation for which she will no longer stand.

Determined to prove them wrong, she kidnaps the Earl of Knighton, London’s most successful rogue, and demands lessons in seduction. She will use the very field that has rejected her to once and for all banish the rejection that has haunted her.

Except she’ll soon learn there’s nothing scientific about seduction.

The Earl She Ruined is the third book in the steamy, heart-stopping historical romance series, The Atwood Sisters. If you love sexy, spellbinding romance and heartwarming humor, don’t miss this captivating series from bestselling author Jessie Clever. Discover adventure and romance when you download The Earl She Ruined today.

The Marquess She Loved

The Atwood Sisters Book 2

On Sale June 16, 2022

Adaline Atwood knew the difference between beauty and money.

The difference being that beauty was a luxury and money was a necessity. It was unfortunate that of the two she had been gifted the luxury.

This imbalance was the reason she stood with the wallflowers by the refreshment tables at every ball. She didn’t mind really. The thing about wallflowers was they didn’t miss a moment of what happened in any ballroom.

After her first awkward year of standing on the periphery, she had grown accustomed to it and almost looked forward to her chats with the spinsters, matrons, and wallflowers that littered the edges of society.

Only sometimes she wished her years of seeing and never being seen hadn’t cultivated quite such a skill in detection.

Because for four years she had watched the man she loved fawn over a woman who gave him no more thought than she did the dust on her slippers.

And it hurt.

It hurt Adaline to see it because while she stood and watched the man she loved be humiliated, she harbored in her a wealth of adoration and respect that she would happily shower upon him if only he turned in her direction.

But he never did. At least, not in the way she had always hoped.

And so she hurt even more for the obvious disdain the woman showed him, disdain he seemed destined to remain oblivious to.

Some nights she made an attempt to ignore him. She would turn to her companions, keeping her back to the ballroom so as to avoid any accidental sighting of him. It hurt less that way.

But tonight she deliberately sought him out at the Fairfield ball. She must because Ashfield Riggs, the newly minted Marquess of Aylesford, had recently traveled to Kent. He had told her that he would need to return to London by this week, and she had searched every ball for the past three days for him for surely he must return soon.

She knew such intimate detail of his travel plans because not only was she madly in love with the man, but she had, as previously mentioned, the absolute worst luck imaginable.

Ashfield Riggs was also her best friend.

That was why she stood on tiptoe to peer over the heads of the gentlemen who had congregated in front of her. She had to know if Ash was there. It was quite possible he had seen her sister in his travels to Kent, and she must know what he had thought of her.

Amelia sent letters, of course, but they were not enough. The written word could so easily hide the true state of one’s life, and Adaline had feared the worst for her little sister since she had left their home two months earlier to marry the Ghoul of Greyfair.

She closed her eyes, inwardly chastising herself for thinking of her new brother-in-law in those terms. Amelia had said time and again in her letters that the duke was no ghoul, and yet Adaline couldn’t bring herself to believe such.

Because Adaline was drowning in guilt, and as anyone who had the occasion to feel guilty would know, it was terribly difficult to extricate oneself from the mire.

Adaline’s guilt had come on like a wind across the moor, sharp and cutting and unexpected. Unexpected quite simply because she had been blind to what was happening around her. It wasn’t until her mother was dead and her father had left that she realized what had happened to Amelia. What had happened to her dear little sister right under her nose.

And then Amelia had been sacrificed to the ghoul.

Er, the duke.

The homelife of the Atwood sisters had not been the rosiest. It had not been gloomy either though. Ruth Atwood was an exacting woman, however, and she paid particular attention to her daughters. Namely in how they continued to fail her.

Adaline had learned early on to avoid the woman, and she believed, this was the reason for her fast and lasting friendship with Ash. She avoided her home at all costs, preferring to visit with friends, and Ash had been among them. But it was Ash’s own struggles at home that had bonded the pair.

It was only later when Ash returned from Eton late one spring, coming to see her first before returning home, that she realized her mistake.

While her childhood friend had left for school, a man had returned in his place. A man with broad shoulders and a deep voice and warm eyes and a quick smile.

She’d fallen in love with him as he’d dismounted in front of her house. She could remember the day clearly. She’d run to the front door at the first sound of hooves on the cobblestones on the square, and so she’d been standing on the stoop when he’d arrived.

She’d clutched at the wrought iron railing, dazed by what she had seen, confused by what was happening. Her childhood friend was gone, and suddenly she felt a surge of feelings so foreign to her they were frightening.

She knew in an instant feelings so scary could only be love.

And only too quickly did she realize he didn’t return those feelings.

It was obvious because the first words he’d said in greeting to her that day were to ask if she was acquainted with Lady Valerie Lattimer and could she arrange an introduction for him.

Lady Valerie Lattimer.

Of course Adaline knew her. Everyone of their age knew her. Lady Valerie Lattimer had beauty and money and charisma and connections. It was a combination any debutante would envy. And at the time, Lady Valerie hadn’t even been out.

It didn’t matter. Any lady nearing the marriage market knew there was no defeating Lady Valerie Lattimer, and every girl had lowered her expectations for a match. For surely all the good ones would gravitate toward Lady Valerie like a hound to a fox.

Adaline only wished Ash would eventually see the truth.

Lady Valerie Lattimer was the worst person Adaline had ever met.

The woman was petty and selfish, cruel and unkind. But her ability to convince a man he was the center of the universe kept the male of the species in the dark.

Including Ash.

Adaline had thought now that she was four and twenty and firmly on the shelf, she would forget about her love for Ash. She could tuck it away like an old, beloved heirloom that one took out from time to time to admire and remember when things were simple.

Because nothing was simple anymore.

Her mother was dead, her father lost at sea, and her sister sacrificed to a ghoul. Sorry, a duke. And it was all Adaline’s fault.

She should have been there to protect Amelia from their mother’s scorn. She should have seen what was happening instead of assuming her sisters knew to keep out of their mother’s line of sight.

But Adaline knew Amelia hadn’t. She was quite certain Alice, the youngest Atwood sister, had survived their mother without too many scars because Alice was largely oblivious to the world around her, her books and her experiments occupying her attention. But not Amelia. Poor quiet Amelia, lost somewhere in the middle of her sisters, had taken the brunt of their mother’s scorn.

That was why she had so readily sacrificed herself to the Ghoul of Greyfair.

Uh, Duke of Greyfair.

Where was Ash?

She craned her neck around the side of the matrons who had now approached the gentleman to discuss the quality of the champagne being served.

She wasn’t paying attention to how she was leaning until her elbow struck the cut crystal of the punch bowl on the table beside her. She watched, unable to move, as the bowl rocked ominously before a hand shot out, stopping her humiliation in a single motion.

“I’m gone no more than a fortnight, and you start assaulting punch bowls.”

“Ash.” She hated how his name came out like an oath, but she couldn’t help it. “You’ve returned.”

“Of course, I returned. You didn’t think I was going to stay in Kent forever.”

He was handsome tonight. He was always handsome with his almost boyish features, his quick smile, and warm eyes. When she looked at him, she couldn’t help the feeling of happiness that bubbled up inside of her.

“I’ve heard Kent is quite lovely.”

He laughed. “I would say it’s rather empty.” He paused as if thinking. “And there are an extraordinary number of cows. I felt rather outnumbered.”

“By cows?” She couldn’t stop the disbelief from entering her tone.

His expression folded until she almost believed she’d actually wounded him.

“Have you ever seen a cow? Menacing creatures. I shouldn’t like to be left alone with one.”

She smiled, and it was only then that she realized that was his intent.

She wasn’t sure how many exchanges they had had like this. Standing at the edge of society functions. Attuned to only each other and how they didn’t quite fit in with the rest of the ton.

Only now Ash did fit in. He was a marquess. She took an involuntary step back. It was another change, one she hadn’t realized until it stood directly in front of her. Her chest squeezed uncomfortably, and she turned away from him on the pretense of adjusting her dance card along the folds of her elbow-length gloves.

“I trust your travels went well.”

“It was terribly dull.”

She looked sharply at him. “You’ve always enjoyed a good jaunt. What was so different this time?” His gaze scanned the crowds, a gesture painfully familiar, and loss radiated through her. He had been standing next to her for mere seconds and already he was looking for someone else.

The Duke She Married

The Atwood Sisters Book 1

On Sale: March 31, 2022

Orphaned and destitute, Lady Amelia Atwood must marry to save her family from utter financial devastation. Lost between her sisters, neglected by her father, and scorned by her mother, Amelia learned being close to people only brought hurt and loneliness, and she avoids them at all costs. But if she wishes to save her sisters, she must sacrifice herself.

To the Ghoul of Greyfair.

Disfigured by the fire that killed his wife, Lucas Bennett, the Duke of Greyfair, hides in his remote island castle, avoiding the rumors that suggest he murdered his wife. But when his need for an heir drives him from his lair, he strikes a bargain with the desperate Earl of Biggleswade for the hand of his daughter. Lucas’s plan is simple, but he’ll soon discover she’s not the timid debutante he had bargained for.

The Duke She Married is the first book in the steamy, heart-stopping historical romance series, The Atwood Sisters. If you love sexy, spellbinding romance and heartwarming humor, don’t miss this captivating series from bestselling author Jessie Clever. Discover adventure and romance when you download The Duke She Married today.