Ne’er Duke Well by Alexandra Vasti EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Alexandra Vasti
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3.8 MB
- Price: Free
You may be interested to hear that Peter Kent has finally inherited.
You remember what he is like, do you not? One pities the House of
Lords.
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—from Lady Selina Ravenscroft to her brother, Lord William Ravenscroft, His
Majesty’s Army, Seventh Division, 1815
Peter suspected the project was doomed.
It had not been a good idea to begin with. Surely he could have found
another way to satisfy his half sister’s desire for a rapier—one that did not
involve dressing her in boy’s clothes and smuggling her into a fencing
parlor on Bond Street.
He should have sent for a rapier, not gone out to fit her with it himself.
He could have had someone bring a sword to his house.
He was supposed to be a duke, for Christ’s sake.
Peter Kent, the ninth Duke of Stanhope—for all that he’d never set foot
in England until two years ago, when he’d become heir presumptive to the
dukedom and the Earl of Clermont had dragged him unceremoniously away
from his home in Louisiana.
He was the duke now. Had been for three-quarters of a month. People
called him Your Grace. He had more money than God.
These facts did not seem to matter to his half siblings.
“Lu,” he said to his sister, slightly horrified to hear pleading in his
voice. “You sure you don’t want the kitten? We might buy it a little
collar…”
He’d brought his siblings a soft, fluffy gray kitten in a basket that
morning. Freddie, his ten-year-old half brother, had nearly come out of his
skin at the sight of the thing, but Lu had quelled Freddie with a wordless
scowl.
Freddie, at least, had wanted the kitten.
“No,” said Lu flatly. “No kittens. Its tail looked like a chimney brush.”
“Its tail looked soft,” mumbled Freddie disconsolately.
“It has claws,” offered Peter. “And teeth. Sharp little teeth.”
He’d felt a right jackass in the carriage on the way to their house that
morning, trying to stuff the kitten into the basket. The idea had seemed so
promising. What child could resist a kitten? He’d had one brought in from
his country seat in Sussex—because, in-bloody-explicably, he had a country
seat in Sussex. And people who brought things at his request.
And then the damned kitten kept popping out of the basket and
climbing his coat sleeve with its little needle claws and sinking its tiny teeth
into his ear and shrieking like the hounds of hell were after it.
Pop pop went its claws as he’d pried it from his coat. Then
meeeewwwww as he shoved it into the basket. Then ouch Jesus blasted
cockered ratsbane, let go of my goddamned thumb!
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