The Duke's Daring Debutante. Ann Lethbridge

      

       Freddy broke their kiss and pulled Minette close.

      Breathing rapidly, she rested her cheek on his chest and he bent to kiss her crown, his own breathing none too steady.

      ‘It wouldn’t do to be caught out again,’ he said gently.

      ‘No,’ she agreed, much to his body’s painful disappointment.

      She placed a hand on his lapel and stroked down the fabric. Delight with her response to his touch was a wild beat in his blood. This attraction was a positive sign for their marriage. There was much pleasure to be had between them, as long as he made sure not to let things go too far. Not to get too out of control.

      ‘We really should go before someone misses us,’ she said, not moving an inch. She sighed. ‘We don’t want to set tongues wagging again.’

      Wagging tongues were the story of his life. He had told himself a long time ago that he didn’t care. But he didn’t want her hurt by vicious gossip.

      ‘Yes, we should.’ He kissed her forehead and linked his arm through hers, feeling for the first time in a long while a sense of hope.

       AUTHOR NOTE

      I hope you enjoy this offshoot of the Beresford Abbey stories: Haunted by the Earl’s Touch and Captured Countess. When we first met Freddy and Minette I could not understand why they seemed to dislike each other when they would be perfect together. I have enjoyed finding out what was keeping them apart.

      Another fun part of researching this story was learning about Mr Brummell’s game of cricket in 1807. Like Minette, I was surprised to see the Beau engaging in anything so active—and with an audience too!

      I love to hear from readers, so feel free to email me at ann@annlethbridge. If you would like to know more about my books or sign up for my quarterly newsletter go to my website at annlethbridge.com. And if you are a history buff, you might enjoy my blog: regencyramble.blogspot.com

      The Duke’s Daring Debutante

      Ann Lethbridge

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      In her youth, award-winning author ANN LETHBRIDGE re-imagined the Regency romances she read—and now she loves writing her own. Now living in Canada, Ann visits Britain every year, where family members understand—or so they say—her need to poke around every antiquity within a hundred miles. Learn more about Ann or contact her at annlethbridge.com. She loves hearing from readers.

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      Each book has a life of its own and is influenced by many people, but I would like to dedicate this book to those who serve their country in whatever capacity they choose—as my dad did in the army.

      I believe he would have liked my foray into authorship, since he was a dedicated Georgette Heyer fan and loved reading about history.

      Contents

       Cover

       Excerpt

      AUTHOR NOTE

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Epilogue

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      The foul stench coated Minette Rideau’s throat. With her skirts held high in one hand and the other clutching Granby’s arm, she focussed on taking only tiny sips of air as she picked her way over Bridge Alley’s slimy cobbles. One of many narrow passages in the reviled district of St Giles, it led to London’s most infamous hell. The only one owned by a duke. Falconwood. The man she now risked her reputation to track down in his lair.

      Ancient tenements crowded in on both sides, the glimmer of lanterns behind oilpaper giving them menacing aspects. All around, noises of a seething mass of humanity pierced the darkness. Shouts and curses, music from the tavern on the corner. A child crying. A woman coughing.

      So very different from the elegance of Mayfair, but not the worst she’d seen.

      Granby halted before a low wooden door bound with iron and set with studs. The lantern above the door cast an oily gleam in the slime oozing along the alley’s central runnel.

      ‘This is it?’ she asked. ‘The Fools’ Paradise?’

      ‘It is,’ Granby croaked as if his throat was parched.

      It had required all of Minette’s powers of persuasion to convince Lieutenant, the Honourable Laurence Granby, to be her escort when she’d