Nothing Like a Duke
by Jane Ashford Series: The Duke's Sons #4 Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca
on 2nd May 2017 Genres: Historical
, Romance Buy on Amazon US
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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.
entally, because that was impossible. DzGo fetch help,dz commanded Flora. The dog didn’t move. DzSome clever gardeners. A footman from the house. Anyone. Go!dzDzPlato? Where are you, you dratted animal?dz called a voice nearby. DzLord Robert?dz she called. There was a short silence. DzFlora?dzDzYes. 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.dz She frowned down at the dog. DzDoes he ever blink? He’s really a bit uncanny, don’t you—dzRobert appeared on the path. DzGood God!dz He started forward. DzBe careful! It’s very easy to get caught. If you touch one branch, the whole mass moves.dzDzI see.dz He examined the arching stems. DzYou really are caught, aren’t you?dzHis lips twitched. DzIf you laugh, I’ll…make you sorry,dz Flora promised. Plato made one of his odd grumpy gargling sounds. DzAnd you! I’ll find a badger and hand you over to him.dzRobert choked. DzSo, would you say you’re in need of rescue?dzDzJust get me out!dzRobert moved a few steps closer. He could see that the thorns had barbs likefishhooks, 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. DzThese things are diabolical,dz she said. DzWhen I turned to pull loose, they seemed to…sort of lunge at me.dz
DzStay very still.dzDzI know!dz She let out a huff of breath. DzI beg your pardon. This is…rather irritating.dz She smiled an apology. Robert felt a catch in his chest, as if his heart had stumbled briefly. DzRight then. Move back, Plato,dz 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. DzOne down,dz 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. DzYou’ve hurt yourself,dz she said. DzIt’s nothing.dz 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.
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