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252 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 31, 2012
"His friends certainly considered him untemperamental, tolerant and willing if not eager to find the good in others. In general, he treated others as he would have them treat him.
His enemies, however, found him implacable. And the spiteful female who went about randomly, whimsically and permanently defiling a man’s privates was his enemy.
Miss Haversham’s personal Waterloo was only a few days away."
“I’m a woman of seven and twenty, I’ll have you know.”
“And you look away when I remove my boots,” he retorted. “You blush fire red when I take off my waistcoat and,” he added with growing exasperation, “you would have spasms if I were to remove my breeches, Miss Haversham.”
“I would not,” she retorted, feeling her traitor cheeks heat up.
“Fine, then breeches off,” he barked and rolled to sit up, his hands on the top button of his bulging falls.
“Your Grace!” She threw up a hand to cover her eyes. “You are no gentleman!”
"His erection swayed with each step, his heavy sac hung pendulous between his thighs."
Chapter 1
In which our mortified hero has no one but himself to blame. Yet.
London, August 1815
The Morning After
"Bollocks, sir!" Smeeth exclaimed. "Beg pardon, Y'Grace."
It was not at all like the duke's valet to stare at a man's apparatus with such squinty-eyed concentration. This made His Grace all the more uncomfortable, if that were possible.
”Over and over, I’ve bared my soul to her.”
“You told her you loved her?” Percy persisted.
“Not precisely in those words, Percy,” the duke snapped. “Why must you harp on that!”