The Lost Heir of Devonshire
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By: Grace Gibson | Other books by Grace Gibson Categories: Mainstream Romance, Historical, Regency Word Count: 63,000 Heat Level: SWEET Published By: Musa Publishing
Perhaps the term 'profligate' is too kind for Robert, Marquis of Denley. He has gambled away his fortune, publicly dueled, and earned a reputation as a cur. Desperate to staunch the family's financial hemorrhage, Robert's uncle forces Robert to rusticate in Yorkshire for the purpose of marrying him to the squire's daughter. This uninteresting alliance would permanently remove his reckless nephew from Society. But Mary Fanley, a country miss who thinks the pretensions of the bon ton are absurd, has no idea Sir Robert is being coerced into marrying a 'veritable nobody'. From their first encounter she infuriates him with her dismissive wit. So begins a war of horrific insults and unvarnished contempt. Yet just as Mary begins to seem quite palatable, a smooth dandy arrives to settle an old score, forcing the Marquis to pay for his past. 0 Ratings
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 The Lost Heir of Devonshire
Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Mobipocket, EPUB, Mobipocket Price: $3.99Cover Art by Kelly Shorten |
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ExcerptIn truth, Sir Robert was a brooder. He was known to fall into moods so foul as to evacuate his house in town of all but the staunchest servants. In the city, he could express his depression with weeklong bouts of Blue Ruin and vicious betting at the fights in Brown Station. In the country, he could only sit and indulge his gloomy thoughts, particularly on rainy days when riding couldn't raise his spirits. Mary reflected with a tinge of remorse how she had made use of his low spirits to suit herself. She would find the Marquis seated in the library while her father read happily at his side. Rather than try to relieve his boredom, she would go to the pianoforte to escape the obligation of lightening his mood. But one evening, having walked by the library door and witnessed just such a scene, an impulse of charity caused her to bring up a bottle of sherry and two glasses on a small enameled tray. Mr. Fanley never moved his eyes from the page. "I'm much obliged, Mary. How did you know we were in need of a glass?" "Oh," she said. "By the glower on Sir Robert's face, I surmised that you had bored him to within an inch of his life." "I am not glowering," growled His Lordship. "No, my dear," Mr. Fanley said, still reading. "Denley has assured me this is exactly what he likes." "I beg your pardon my lord," she said tartly. "I did not mean to disturb your brooding then." "Brooding?" They had both learnt the art of violent argument in benign accents that would not catch her father's attention. "I would rather say so." She filled his glass and handed it to him."You look like a dragon hen lording over some devil's egg." "You mistake serious and peaceful contemplation for moodiness." "And you mistake my attempts at assuring your comfort as an odious disruption! Forgive me sir, for cutting up your peace, if peace is what you call that black scowl." She graced him with a tart smile and departed in a bustle of skirts. |
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