In Bed with the Duke (Governess Brides, Book 9)
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Demure lady's companion Emma Chegwidden avoids defying society's rules. Until the night she runs right into the arms of the seductive Reaper--a man who rides the night-shadowed countryside and conceals his identity behind a mask. His goal is justice... or is it vengeance? Only one thing is certain: Nothing will stop him from his dark purpose.
Michael Durant, long-lost heir to the duke of Nevitt, has a score to settle. Cynical, dangerous and ruthless, Michael is the last man on earth that sensible Emma should defy. But some challenges are too tempting to resist ... and some passions too fierce to ignore. Soon Michael discovers in Emma the woman he has always longed for: a woman whose beauty and courage reach through to his tortured soul. And he will defy anything, even fate itself, to claim her...
helping Aimée, she worried, and that infuriated her. Why was she concerned about the fate of a man who had lied to her? Seduced her? My God, he had even reproached her for allowing Prince Sandre to court her when he knew perfectly well why she was doing it, and he’d taunted her with the prospect of courting her as Michael Durant, the heir to the Duke of Nevitt, when he knew he’d made her fall in love with the Reaper. With himself! If he didn’t die from this infection, she was going to kill him.
Michael was eating huge meals and moving without pain, and his wound had closed without any sign of infection. “What are you doing on that horse with that ridiculous outfit?” “Are you saying I look like an ass?” “Exactly!” “Then that’s something for you to remember in the future when you don the costume.” She ducked as Old Nelson entered the stable. The horse headed right for his stall. Michael followed. She slid off onto the mounting block, then picked up a rag. Michael took it away from
shoved at him. He let her, rolling onto his back and taking her with him. “I don’t think so.” She slid his shirt off his shoulder and looked. No crimson stained the white bandage. “You’re sure you didn’t hurt anything?” “I’m fine!” Taking both sides of his shirt in her hands, she ripped it apart. “Stay absolutely still and I won’t hurt you now.” Putting her mouth to his, she kissed him hotly, deeply, and when he groaned, she knew she was going to win this time. They were both going to win
pleasure in the smooth ripple of bone and muscle. Her bedchamber, the whole house, was draped in sheets. The servants had been dismissed. The cart was coming for Aimée’s last load before she closed the house and left. She hadn’t told anyone, most certainly not her dear friend Eleonore, but Rickie’s death had freed her. She wasn’t ever coming back. Impulsively, she handed Elixabete the horse. “You keep it.” “No. No, it’s yours. Your father gave it to you!” Elixabete tried to hand it back.
swam. He closed them as if too dazed to focus. Michael asked, “How’s that for fair rules of boxing?” Panting, he allowed himself a moment of recovery—for himself and Sandre. He wanted to feel the crunch of Sandre’s bones beneath his fists. He wanted to savor Sandre’s pain and frustration. Maybe that made him as twisted as Sandre. He didn’t care. Through the endless days in the dungeon, dreaming of this moment had kept him alive. Still holding Sandre by the hair, he dragged him to his feet.