Nothing Like a Duke
The Duke’s Sons, #4
Author: Jane Ashford
ISBN: 9781492621652
Pub date: May 2, 2017
Genre: Historical Romance
He wants her.
She has no intention of wanting him.
But even Flora has to admit…
There’s nothing like a Duke.
Lord
Robert Gresham has given up all hope that the beautiful and independent Flora
Jennings will ever take him seriously. He heads to an exclusive country house
party to forget about the beauty haunting his thoughts.
Too
bad the lady in question has no intention of being forgotten.
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Excerpt:
A
protruding bit of bramble caught the side of Flora’s pelisse. She twisted to
reach for it, and a whole raft of briars shifted with her, entangling the other
side of her skirts, her right arm, and the brim of her bonnet. If she pulled
away, it would rip the cloth. She struggled a little; more thorns dug in.
“Blast it, I suppose you were right, you wretched dog,” she exclaimed, and
discovered that Plato was gone.
Flora
lifted a hand to free her hat. The movement tipped another part of the bush,
which swayed and seemed to grab at her. A second branch lodged in her bonnet.
She felt several claw at her back. A stem lashed across her neck. That one drew
blood. She tried to step back, and was pricked by more thorns, through her
clothes, from all directions.
Flora
went very still. She saw that the path petered out just ahead. Or perhaps this
hadn’t been a path at all, but merely a deceptive opening in the vegetation.
She hadn’t been paying attention. She tried again to move. She was trapped in a
sea of briars. The thorns were long and wickedly barbed. They pricked the skin
of her neck, her arm, her back, her side.
She
became aware of a rustling in the leaves near her feet. What next? The badgers?
Snakes? No, of course not snakes. It was far too cold.
A
small black-furred head poked through an opening at the base of the briars.
Evading the thorns with no visible effort, Plato emerged and stared up at her.
“Oh, you’re back, are you?” said Flora. He sat down at her feet. “Come to
gloat? Point out that if I’d followed you, I wouldn’t be in this predicament?”
Plato
looked at her. Not judgmentally, because that was impossible.
“Go
fetch help,” commanded Flora. The dog didn’t move. “Some clever gardeners. A
footman from the house. Anyone. Go!”
“Plato?
Where are you, you dratted animal?” called a voice nearby.
“Lord
Robert?” she called.
There
was a short silence. “Flora?”
“Yes.
I’ve, ah, become entangled in some brambles. Plato doesn’t appear to care in
the least. Or, actually, he’s staring at me as if it was all my fault.” She
frowned down at the dog. “Does he ever blink? He’s really a bit uncanny, don’t
you—”
Robert
appeared on the path. “Good God!” He started forward.
“Be
careful! It’s very easy to get caught. If you touch one branch, the whole mass
moves.”
“I
see.” He examined the arching stems. “You really are caught, aren’t
you?” His lips twitched.
“If
you laugh, I’ll...make you sorry,” Flora promised. Plato made one of his odd
grumpy gargling sounds. “And you! I’ll find a badger and hand you over
to him.”
Robert
choked. “So, would you say you’re in need of rescue?”
“Just
get me out!”
Robert
moved a few steps closer. He could see that the thorns had barbs like
fishhooks, ready to rip and tear if not removed very carefully. There was a
trickle of blood on Flora’s neck. After a moment of calculation, he eeled
between two branches. He had to stop once and detach thorns from his sleeve
before he reached her side.
“These
things are diabolical,” she said. “When I turned to pull loose, they seemed
to...sort of lunge at me.”
“Stay
very still.”
“I
know!” She let out a huff of breath. “I beg your pardon. This is...rather
irritating.” She smiled an apology.
Robert
felt a catch in his chest, as if his heart had stumbled briefly. “Right then.
Move back, Plato,” he said. For once, the little dog obeyed him, slipping
easily out to a more open spot.
He
began on the closest branch, embedded in the skirts of Flora’s pelisse. He had
to kneel to reach it properly. His knife was small for the tough fibers. The
bush swayed as he sawed at the branch. A spray of thorns rasped across his
hair, but didn’t catch hold.
Robert
soon pricked his skin. There was no way to hold the branch still without being
stuck, and he’d left his gloves indoors when he’d seen Plato shoot wildly out
of the bushes and then go haring off again.
Blood
made the blasted thing slippery. Robert got out his handkerchief, used it to
wrap the branch, and went back to work. At last, he was through. The severed
stem sprang back a little, he was glad to see, giving him a few inches of
working room. He looked up. “One down,” he said with a smile.
The
heated gaze he encountered went through him like a thunderbolt. He was suddenly
acutely aware of his position, right in among her skirts. His shoulder rested
against her thigh. The scent of her—flowery perfume and sheer female—enveloped
him.
“You’ve
hurt yourself,” she said.
“It’s
nothing.” Intensely aroused, Robert eased to his feet. Flora smiled at him
again. Her fierce blue eyes raked him. He knew, absolutely, that she was
remembering their kisses.
The
next branch was wrapped around her far sleeve. He had to press close to her to
avoid the briars at his back as he reached for it. And stay there while he cut
through the stringy fiber of the bramble. The feel of her—curve of breast and
hip, her cheek resting on his chest—made him clumsier. At one point a thorn
drove deep into the pad of his index finger, and he stifled an oath.
Flora
was having trouble breathing. She could feel his heartbeat, so near her ear,
accelerating in tandem with her own. She could feel his muscles shift against
her as he cut at the brambles. If she looked up, carefully, she could see his
face—handsome, intent. The lips that had thrilled her were only inches away.
But she couldn’t move enough to offer her own again. She had to remain very
still, plastered against him.
***********
JANE ASHFORD, a beloved author of
historical romances, has been published in Sweden, Italy, England, Denmark,
France, Russia, Latvia, and Spain, as well as the United States. Jane has been
nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews. She lives
in Los Angeles, California.
Social Networking Links:
Website:
http://www.janeashford.com/
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