Download A Duke of Her Own (Desperate Duchesses, Book 6) by Eloisa James PDF

By Eloisa James

A duke needs to decide upon properly . . .

Leopold Dautry, the infamous Duke of Villiers, needs to wed fast and nobly—and his offerings, unluckily, are few. The Duke of Montague's daughter, Eleanor, is exquisitely appealing and fiercely clever. Villiers betroths himself to her with out extra ado.

After all, no different lady particularly qualifies. Lisette, the outspoken daughter of the Duke of Gilner, cares not anything for garments or decorum. She's engaged to a different guy, and doesn't provide a fig for prestige or name. part the ton believes Lisette mad—and Villiers is susceptible to agree.

Torn among good judgment and keenness, among intelligence and mind's eye, Villiers unearths himself interested in the very fringe of impropriety. however it isn't till he's in a duel to the dying, combating for the popularity of the lady he loves, that Villiers ultimately realizes that the best probability is probably not within the dueling box . . .

But within the bed room. And the center.

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Extra resources for A Duke of Her Own (Desperate Duchesses, Book 6)

Sample text

Of course, if he were still about somewhere, perhaps trying to mend his vessel, then it was my duty to warn him of what was being said in the village. I topped a sandbank and looked out at the empty patch of shore between two spits of rock and then back up at Fergus’s cottage hunkering in the dunes well up from the ancient shoreline, whose edges were fringed with sea grass that had somehow survived a half century buried in sand. I put up a hand to shade my eyes from the sun that was still on the incline and bright enough to burn the eyes when it peered around the clouds.

Still, I was a long way from being completely at ease in my thoughts as I prepared my meal. I didn’t need to light the kitchen fire since the embers were still glowing, a further confirmation that my visitor had felt free to make himself at home. However, by the time I had stirred the oatmeal into something nearly edible, my thoughts had turned from tales of devils to stories of night visitors of the amorous variety. Legend had it that the area was once populated with sleagh maith, the local Gaelic term for fairies, notorious for seducing humans.

My grandmother had sometimes spoken the language, and my husband had used it with his few friends, so I recognized some of the stranger’s words. The man was asking who I was and if I recognized him. The voice was a bit like a rusty razor that was perhaps not often used but capable of cutting deeply if needed. Against my will I answered. “Is mise…Megan. ” I gasped the last bit, and it sounded something like laughter—hysterics, though, not girlish giggles meant to attract a man. The stranger inhaled deeply.

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