About FALLING INTO BED WITH A DUKE
In the first in a dazzling new series, New York Times bestselling author Lorraine Heath introduces the Hellions of Havisham-three charismatic rogues destined to lose their hearts…
After six unsuccessful Seasons, Miss Minerva Dodger chooses spinsterhood over fortune-hungry suitors. But thanks to the Nightingale Club, she can at least enjoy one night of pleasure. At that notorious establishment, ladies don masks before choosing a lover. The sinfully handsome Duke of Ashebury is more than willing to satisfy the secretive lady’s desires-and draws Minerva into an exquisite, increasingly intimate affair.
A man of remarkable talents, Ashe soon deduces that his bedmate is the unconventional Miss Dodger. Intrigued by her wit and daring, he sets out to woo her in earnest. Yet Minerva refuses to trust him. How to court a woman he has already thoroughly seduced? And how to prove that the passion unleashed in darkness is only the beginning of a lifetime’s pleasure…?
I have not read extensively through Lorraine Heath’s backlist. I’ve read the three Lost Lords of Pembrook (and the novella) and the first two Scandalous Gentlemen of St. James (When the Duke Was Wicked is very good but I had some real problems with Once More, My Darling Rogue and never read The Duke and the Lady in Red) and I have a one or two from London’s Greatest Lovers and Scoundrels of St. James kicking around on my Nook somewhere. From how I understand it, the Scoundrels are the older generation who begat the heroes and heroines of Scandalous, London’s Greatest, and now this new series, Hellions of Havisham. (Aside: I would really, really appreciate it if someone at Heath’s publisher could put together a family tree of all the characters for reference on her website because there some half-siblings that I can’t keep straight. Thanks.)
So, in this new Hellions of Havisham series (spot on the nose with the estate name used), three young boys are sent to live with the eccentric (read: probably not all-together-there) Marquess of Marsden after their parents are killed in a railway accident: Nicholson, the new Duke of Ashebury (Ashe), Albert, the new Earl of Greyling, and Albert’s twin Edward. Together with Locksley, Marsden’s neglected son, the boys grow up to travel the world and raise Cain wherever they go. Now twenty years later, Ashe has developed a talent for photography and a particular fetish (no spoilers, you’ll have to read on to figure it out). He frequents The Nightingale Club to indulge this interest with ladies who wish for the pleasure of a lover without the burden of a marriage.
Miss Minerva Dodger has decided that, since the men of Society seem more interested in proposing to her dowry than herself, she will remain a spinster. Most like. So to that end she obtains the address of The Nightingale Club and presents herself – adequately masked – to discover for herself the pleasure she is supposed to find in the marriage bed (those of us well-versed in Victorian history know that it was pretty hit or miss for happy marriages in the upper classes of England). Of course, she catches Ashe’s eye by merely walking into the room.
Given that I had not liked my previous outing with Heath’s characters, I tried to hold my judgement in check until the end of the book. I am so very glad I gave this new novel a chance. The push-pull between Minerva and Ashe regarding who-knows-the-truth-about-what-went-on-between-them-at-the-club and the thought process Ashe uses to connect his anonymous lady and Minerva was very good. I really loved Minerva, who we previously met as Grace’s friend in When the Duke Was Wicked. She’s intelligent, curious without being artificially naive, can defend herself, and absolutely fed-up with males who think they can marry the money and leave her in the country (she even wrote the book about how to spot a fortune-hunter). There is some ham-fistedness regarding dowries and who does or doesn’t need money that I felt could have been plotted much better but the resolution was nice.
I’m not sure which Hellion is next on Heath’s list: Locke or Edward (interestingly enough, Greyling is already married – has been for two years – when this novel starts and so doesn’t seem to figure into the series) Scratch that thought, I just did some internet-digging and the next one has a really wild set-up (don’t go looking until you’ve read this one or you’re going to spoil a plot point, I’m serious).
Dear FTC: I received a DRC from the publisher via Edelweiss.
Keep reading for an excerpt from an Chapter 1 of Falling Into Bed With a Duke, advance praise, and where to buy the book!
EXCERPT FROM FALLING INTO BED WITH A DUKE:
The Duke of Ashebury was on the hunt for a pair of long, shapely legs. Standing casually with a shoulder pressed to a wall in the front parlor of the Nightingale Club, he observed with a jaundiced eye those who entered. The ladies wore flowing silk that caressed their skin as a lover might before the night was done. The shimmering fabric seductively outlined the body, hinted at dips and swells. Arms were bared. Necklines were low, the silk gathering just below a tasteful showing of cleavage designed to entice. People murmured and sipped their champagne, while exchanging heavy-lidded gazes and come-hither smiles.
The flirtation that occurred within these walls was very different from that found in a ballroom. No one here was searching for a dance partner. Rather, they wanted a bedding partner. He appreciated the honesty on display, which was the reason that he often stopped by when he was in London. No pretense, no ruses, no duplicity.
He had already claimed a bedchamber, the key nestled in his jacket pocket, as he wanted no one to disturb what he had so painstakingly set up. His needs were unique, and he knew that within these walls, they would be kept secret. People did not discuss what occurred at the Nightingale Club. For most of London, its existence was something spoken about in longing whispers by those who knew it only as myth. But for those familiar with it, it served as a sanctuary, liberator, confidant. It was whatever one needed it to be.
For him, it was salvation, bringing him back from the brink of darkness. Twenty years had gone by since his parents’ deaths, yet still he dreamed of mangled and charred remains. Still, he heard his mother’s terrorized screams and his father’s fruitless cries. Still, his behavior when he’d last seen them taunted him. Had he known that he’d never look upon them again—
With resolve, he shook off the haunting musings that sent a chill down his spine. Here, he could forget, at least for a few hours. Here, the regrets didn’t gnaw unmercifully at him. Here, he could become lost striving for perfection, for the ultimate in pleasure.
He had merely to determine which lady would best suit his purposes, which would be willing to concede to his unusual request without protest. It bothered him not at all that the ladies wore domino masks. He cared little for their faces, understood their need for anonymity. Their concealment worked to his advantage as he’d discovered that ladies were more comfortable with his request when they were assured it would remain their secret—and his not knowing their identity made them bolder than they might have been otherwise. They liked being a little naughty as long as they weren’t caught. He couldn’t catch them if he didn’t know who they were.
Still, he had one cardinal rule he always observed: never the same lady twice.
The ladies brought their own masks, seldom changed them, as the façade became their calling cards, as effective at identifying them as the ones handed over to butlers in the early afternoon when they were making proper visits. The woman in the black mask decorated with peacock feathers had a scar just above her left knee from a tumble she’d taken from a pony as a child. The blue mask, black feathers had two delightful dimples in the small of her back. The green mask outlined in yellow lace possessed bony hips that had proven a challenge, but he’d been pleased with the results when their time together was finished. But then he’d always embraced the challenge of discovering the perfection in imperfection.
The three glasses of scotch that he’d enjoyed were thrumming through his veins. The din of intimacy was calming. The muscles that had been so tense earlier were relaxed. He was in his element here, or he would be in short order. As soon as he found that for which he was searching. He wouldn’t settle for less than what he wanted; he never did. If one sure thing could be said about the Duke of Ashebury, it was that he knew his own mind. That he was stubborn when it came to acquiring what he needed—or wanted. Tonight’s endeavors straddled the line of both what he needed and what he wanted. All needs would be met before dawn. Then, perhaps, he could be glad to be back in London.
Lifting his glass for another sip, he watched a woman wearing draping white silk and a white mask with short white feathers walk hesitantly into the room as though she expected the floor to drop out from beneath her at any moment. She wasn’t particularly tall, but based on the way the silk moved over her flesh with each graceful step, it was obvious that she possessed long, slender legs. He wondered if she was meeting someone, already had an arranged assignation. Some ladies did—it was one of the reasons that the men didn’t wear masks. So they were easily identifiable if their paramours wanted to meet them here. Another reason was that men simply didn’t bloody well care if anyone knew that they were in the mood for a good tupping. Even the married ones were brazen with their presence.
The woman in white appeared to have dark hair, gathered up in an elaborate style that no doubt required an abundance of pins. He couldn’t be absolutely certain of the exact shade because the lighting in the room—only flickering candles—enhanced the mood of secrecy as well as creating an ambiance for intimacy while providing a gossamer disguise for some distinguishing characteristics that were easily identifiable by color: hair, eyes, even the fairness of skin. Perhaps she moved slowly because her eyes were adjusting to the dimness. Gentlemen not yet spoken for did not swarm to her side. But then that was the rule here. Seduction happened slowly. Ladies needed to hint at an interest.
But then, if this was her first time, she might not be aware of the subtle rules. He was fairly certain he’d never seen her before. A connoisseur of the body, he would have remembered the elegance of her movements, the way the cloth glided over her skin, outlining her form. Slender legs, but meat where it counted. No bony hips there.
With one long swallow, he finished off his scotch, relishing the realization that the hunt was over. He’d thought he wanted a tall woman. He’d been mistaken.
He wanted her.
About LORRAINE HEATH
LORRAINE HEATH always dreamed of being a writer. After graduating from the University of Texas, she wrote training manuals and computer code, but something was always missing. After reading a romance novel, she not only became hooked on the genre, but quickly realized what her writing lacked: rebels, scoundrels, and rogues. She’s been writing about them ever since. Her work has been recognized with numerous industry awards, including RWA’s RITA® and a Romantic Times Career Achievement Award. Her novels have appeared on the USA Today and New York Times best-seller lists.
Praise for FALLING INTO BED WITH A DUKE
“Heath’s first Hellions of Havisham Victorian romance is wonderfully entertaining….Heath adeptly juggles numerous new and familiar characters as she sweeps fans of her Regency novels into the Victorian era.”—Publishers Weekly
“With her usual flair for richly nuanced characters and elegant writing, RITA® Award-winning Heath launches her new Hellions of Havisham historical series with a tale that simply sizzles with sensuality.”—Booklist
“She dazzles with fascinating characters and a naughty plotline, but most of all she mesmerizes with the depth of emotion in this highly sensual story.”—RT Book Reviews, **4.5 Stars, Top Pick!**
“Falling into Bed with a Duke is a great start to Lorraine Heath’s new series, and book two can’t appear fast enough.” –All About Romance, Desert Island Keeper Review
“FALLING INTO BED WITH A DUKE is a passionate Victorian romance that leaves the reader sighing in happiness…” –Fresh Fiction
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