How to Tempt a Duke

A Reckless Beauty

“A Reckless Beauty [is] a cannon shot. Drama by the boatload, danger around every corner, and heart-wrenching emotion await readers.”

—A Romance Review

A Most Unsuitable Groom

“From the first page to the last this continuation of the

Beckets of Romney Marsh saga is a well-crafted novel. Emotional intensity, simmering sexual tension, characters you care about and political intrigue—plus touches of humour and a poignant love story—all come together in this hugely entertaining keeper.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

The Dangerous Debutante

“Her characters shine as she brings in fascinating details

of the era, engaging plot twists and plenty of sensuality.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Shall We Dance?

“Brimming with historical details and characters ranging

from royalty to spies, greedy servants to a jealous woman, this tale is told with panache and wit.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

The Butler Did It

“Michaels’ ingenious sense of humour reaches new

heights as she brings marvellous characters and a too-funny-for-words story to life. (…) What fun, what pleasure, what a read!”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Rafe followed Charlotte with his eyes as she pretended an interest in the bookshelves, seeing the young girl who had chased after him sometimes, and gone out of her way to ignore him at others.

She’d been such a funny creature, he remembered. Tall for a girl, and rack-thin; all arms and long legs and too much hair.

A pest. She’d been a pest. And female into the bargain. A child, really; fifteen to his nineteen the day he’d gone off to take up his commission.

He hadn’t recognised her out there on the drive. She was still tall, still thin, he supposed, but also nicely rounded.

Her hair looked…touchable. Her warm brown eyes hadn’t changed, hadn’t aged. He liked her nose, straight and yet somehow pert, and her wide mouth was full-lipped, and slightly vulnerable.

It was only when she opened that mouth that the Charlie he remembered actually appeared. Charlie said what was on her mind, always, and never dressed her comments up in fine linen. He’d liked that about her, he remembered, even when he was thinking up ways to avoid her.

He had no inclination to avoid her now. Quite the opposite…

USA TODAY bestselling author Kasey Michaels is the author of more than ninety books. She has earned three starred reviews from Publishers Weekly, and has been awarded the RITA® Award from Romance Writers of America, the Romantic Times Career Achievement Award, the Waldenbooks and BookRak awards, and several other commendations for her writing excellence in both contemporary and historical novels. There are more than eight million copies of her books in print around the world. Kasey resides in pennsylvania with her family, where she is always at work on her next book.

To my new editor, the one and only

Margo Lipschultz, a woman with the patience of a saint!

PARIS HAD BEGUN to lose its much-touted appeal. How many years had they all spoken about the day they would vanquish Bonaparte and march, triumphant, into this city of cities? When the mud of Spain sucked off their boots and the provisions didn’t arrive, when they were sure their empty bellies were stuck to their backbones—talk of the glories of Paris would lighten their spirits.

But after five straight days of cold, drenching rain, thoughts had turned to how soon Wellington would order the troops back home to England.

It would be raining there, too, but at least it would be good English rain.

Not that Captains Rafael Daughtry and Swain Fitzgerald would be among the troops piling onto ships and heading for Dover and other English ports. They’d learned just this afternoon that they were among those assigned to escort Bonaparte to his new empire on Elba in a few weeks.

Fitz had told Rafe they should be pleased, that they would be taking part in something historic, a quite singular adventure with which to one day regale their grandchildren while they bounced them on their knees.

Grandchildren? That’s when Rafe had narrowed his intense brown eyes and demanded his friend find them a place where they could both, with any luck, soon render themselves grandly drunk.

Rafe shivered now in his damp uniform and shifted his chair closer to the mediocre fire burning in the hearth of the tavern Fitz had chosen for them. He ran a hand through his overlong, self-barbered black hair, feeling the grease and grit that he had begun to doubt he’d ever be able to wash out of it, and then rubbed at the stubble on his chin. He’d have to locate a new razor in order to shave before presenting himself at Headquarters the next morning, and a clean shirt, as well. Just a dry shirt would do.

“Well now, would you look at that,” Fitz said with a grin. “Huddling by the fire like some old maid who’s never known a warmed bed. Would you be wanting a blanket for around your shoulders, Mistress Daughtry?”