A governess and her secret take an invincible duke by storm…
Her Duke at Midnight
Mythic Dukes Book 3
by Wendy LaCapra
Genre: Historical Paranormal Regency Romance
A governess and her secret take an
invincible duke by storm...
The Duke of Hurtheven will stop at nothing to protect those he loves. So, when
a mysterious new governess captures his godchild’s affection, he vows to
uncover her secrets. Instead, she sets him aflame.
Miss Hera Bythesea accepted a governess position to secure the character
reference she needs to reclaim her secret child. But she did not count on
Hurtheven—curious, relentless, and temptation in human form.
In Hera's world, Hurtheven faces a challenge his power and wealth cannot solve.
But for the love of unwed mother and child, he’ll undertake any Herculean
Labor.
EXCERPT
Excerpt
(The heroine, Hera, meets the Duke of
Hurtheven just after he discovers her charge–his goddaughter–wandering alone in
a hedge)
He was close enough for his breath to raise
gooseflesh on her neck. Who could steal up behind a person so quickly and not
make a sound? A devil incarnate, that was who.
No matter. She squared her shoulders. She’d
faced devils before.
She swiveled around with as much dignity as
she could muster. “There you are!” She addressed Felicia. “I’m very
disappointed in you, young lady.”
Felicia chewed her lip, glancing between her
nursemaid and the duke. With eyes wide and innocent, she wrapped her arm more
tightly around the duke’s neck.
“You must be the incomparable new
nursemaid.” Hurtheven’s tone suggested he found her anything but.
“Indeed.” Though she dropped a quick curtsy,
she made certain her tone revealed her own disdain. “I’m afraid, however, you have
me at a loss.”
“Do I?” He revealed a line of white, even
teeth in neither a smile, nor a sneer, but a chilling combination of the two.
“Well”—she wet her lips—“I imagine I would
remember if we’d been introduced.”
“Of course you would.”
Ugh. The arrogance. Her initial assessment had, of course, been correct.
Well, if he wasn’t going to own up to being
a duke, she needn’t treat him as one. She fixed a level gaze on him and held
out her arms. “If I might have my charge, Mr.—?”
He did not immediately reply. In fact, he
didn’t speak until the tendons on the back of her knees started to quiver. A
useful silence, Karl had called that trick. But she could no longer be tricked.
She kept her expression patient, pleasant.
The duke returned his attention to the
child. “Hurt?”
Fee scoffed. “No.”
The duke exhaled, holding her close for a
significant moment.
Hera inhaled sharply. Hot embarrassment
prickled in her neck as if she were witnessing something she ought not. He’d
been genuinely frightened.
“Fee,” the duke addressed the child, “you
must go back inside…and stay there.”
Her little fingers dug into his skin. “Can’t
I stay with you?”
He angled his head to meet her gaze and his
expression softened. “Ah, but if you do stay with me, you’d
have to be a proper lady and greet every one of your father’s guests.”
Fee dropped her jaw, widened her eyes, and
then violently shook her head.
“I didn’t think so.” He touched her nose.
“Now, you go back upstairs, and I promise I’ll be up to see you when the party
is finished.”
Fee pouted. “You’ve been gone forever.”
He nodded. “An interminable amount of time,
I agree. And I missed you every day—”
No. No. She would not
reconsider her judgement of the man just because he looked into Felicia’s eyes
with tenderness and spoke to her as if she were the most important thing to him
in the world.
“—An hour longer is all I ask. Surely the
party guests will be leaving by midafternoon. And, if you go quietly, and Mrs.
Montrose tells me you’ve been good, I promise presents tonight.”
Fee considered. “Good presents?”
“The best, of course.” Fleetingly, he met
Hera’s gaze over Fee’s head. “They’re from me, aren’t they?”
Hera bit back a groan.
“You do give good presents.”
Felicia nodded. “I’ll go.”
“And be good?” he prompted.
“And be good.” She parroted.
“That’s my girl.” He kissed Fee’s forehead
before planting her on her feet.
As Hera reached out to take Fee’s hand, her
arm brushed his, singeing her flesh. Fire and brimstone.
“I trust”—he spoke as if she were
the errant child—”you will not to lose her again.”
“Of course not. She’s promised you to
be good.” Hera matched his authoritative baritone with
her best no-nonsense nursemaid voice. “Good day.”
Her still-tucked-up skirts may have belied
her bravado, but she turned and walk back to the house, head held high. All
will be well.
“Mrs. Montrose?”
She stopped.
“That is your
name?”
His voice dripped with undisguised
suspicion.
She glanced back over her shoulder. How had
he discovered her surname was false? Or—she narrowed her eyes—was he just
guessing?
“Why would I lie about my name?” she asked.
“Why, indeed.” He lifted a brow, not in the
least cowed nor convinced by her insouciance. “I was merely making sure I
remembered correctly.”
She smiled, briefly and innocently. “Allow
me to reassure you…your memory is sound.” She tilted her head in a pitying
manner. “My father had trouble remembering things in his later years, too.”
Without waiting to see his reaction, she
returned her gaze to the door and quickened her pace.
Obviously, all
was not going to be well.
She could carefully advance across this
checkered board while employing every ounce of competence and skill she
possessed and still find herself
ruthlessly knocked aside. This man wasn’t a pawn. He wasn’t even a rook, a
knight, or a king.
This man was the
player.
And his presence challenged everything.
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His Duchess at Eventide
Mythic Dukes Book 2
Lovers reunited & a dukedom reclaimed—the Regency meets the Odyssey
Lord Cheverley, son of the Duke of Ithwick,
returns to England devastated physically and emotionally by seven years of war,
a shipwreck, and six years in the captivity of a brutal pirate. The courts have
declared him dead, and his wife is entertaining suitors. Should he demand his
rightful place, disrupting his family’s lives, or should he return to sea,
seeking vengeance against the pirate? He sets out to find the answer in
disguise.
Penelope once believed in love, but then the man who swept her off her feet
deserted her, leaving her and her unborn child utterly alone. She will do
anything to protect her son, including enlisting the aid of a mysterious sea
captain to uncover the true intentions of her devious suitors. But the captain
soon awakens something in Penelope, and she begins to suspect he is no
stranger. But, as they peel back the layers of a deadly plot, can this broken
family heal their wounds in time to save what really matters?
EXCERPT
One
November
1805
Wind
whipped Captain Lord Cheverley’s improvised sail
against his raft’s mast. Salted sea-spray stung his lips and gusts roared in
his ears. Using his shoulder, he wiped rain from his eyes and then re-wedged
the paddle between his left arm and leg. Thighs straining, he gripped the
groaning rudder.
He hadn’t survived the unspeakable—seven
years of war, a shipwreck, the loss of his right arm below the elbow, and six
excruciating years of captivity—only to fail now.
Had he?
Wine-dark depths did not defer to
long-serving officers of the Royal Navy. Frothy white waves were indifferent to
sons of dukes. And life-hungry storms didn’t give a damn if they stripped wives
of their husbands, or sons of their fathers.
Penelope.
Thaddeus. Vast emptiness yawned. Instinctively, he
beseeched the heavens. Please. I must
survive.
No god answered, only darkness without
direction, no land, no guiding stars. The blank, shifting water beneath
promised death—the same, slow demise that had claimed the lives of Chev’s
fellow seamen stationed with him on the HMS
Defiance.
That gale, too, had materialized as if
summoned by Poseidon’s trident, without warning and yet powerful enough to
devour his sixty-four-gun ship. Rocks like rusted knives protruded from a
deadly shoal. Waves thundered without reprieve, breaking the Defiance into pieces unfit for kindling.
And his ship’s end had been only the beginning of his nightmare.
Tu
n’es rien. You are nothing. Je te possède maintenant en entier. I own every part of you, now.
His raft listed. He spit over the side.
How much adversity could a man face before
he surrendered to annihilation’s mercy? How god-damned much?
The wind bellowed. Siren whispers sounded,
sensing weakness—supplicate, surrender,
submit.
What did he have to offer the world he’d
left behind? He’d thought he’d return a hero. Instead, he was broken in body
and soul. If he yielded to the storm, would it not be kinder to his family and
a just restitution for his sins?
Memories feathered through his thoughts.
His face buried in the softness of Penelope’s hair. Her fingers, drifting in
soothing circles against the small of his back.
He inhaled deep, straining against
invisible bonds and roaring back into the wind. He cursed fate. He cursed God.
He cursed the pirate witch who’d kept him captive. Then, he cursed himself.
His anger crystalized in breath, clouding
the chilled air. He’d escaped captivity, darkness, restraints. Zephyr’s winds
and Poseidon’s waves demanded the final say, but he would not give up without a
fight.
Not tonight.
The bundle strapped across his back held
what little remained of hung beef and brandy. His cask of fresh water ran low,
but he had enough to last another day.
He smothered his weakness, gritted his
teeth, and held fast to the rudder.
He’d survive.
He’d survive on the pure need for vengeance.
What Readers Are Saying:
Romance and adventure
that will keep you up at night!
-Eva Devon
...stunning in its emotional intensity
and, for me, her best writing yet. The journey of
these characters shattered my heart, filled me with hope, and kept me reading
late into the night, finally releasing me with the reassurance that some bonds,
though stretched beyond imagination, cannot be broken, that evil foes can be
vanquished, that love wins.
-PJ on the Romance Dish
His Duchess at Eventide is a tale that is
all things fabulous, mythical and epic. …I know Chev, Penelope and their
romance will have a firm place on my ebook keeper shelf and in my memory.
-Gayle on Lady Celeste Reads Romance
Stunning,
Emotional, Heartbreaking and full of hope , this has to be one of my all time
favourite books.
-Maggie, Amazon Reviewer
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Her Duke at Daybreak
Mythic Dukes Book 1
2018 Romance Writers of America® RITA® Contest Finalist
A devilish duke & a proper widow agree to three nights, but will explosive passion cost more than they have bargained?
Infamous for his pedigree of madness and
murder, the reclusive Duke of Ashbey believes he cannot feel until a mysterious
woman unlocks a world of sensation in a single, shattering moment of
connection. Ash casts a desperate bid for more.
Recent widow Alicia Stone has long been reviled as the chief impediment to a
love affair that captured the nation’s imagination. Publicly, she settled for
respectability’s cold comfort, but, secretly, she longs to experience what she
never found with her famous husband—uninhibited passion. When Ashbey proposes a
discreet three-night assignation, Alicia shocks herself by accepting. But will
their explosive union cost them both far more than they bargained?
EXCERPTS
ONE
A distinctly male scent filled the air—wealthy
male, a scent she recognized but could not place. Hair on her neck raised; she
forced a calming breath. Nothing came of panic. She’d learned that on the high
seas.
“Please, have a seat.”
His cultured intonation disproved her first assumption—that he was yet
another of Octavius’s creditors, the horrid men who demanded money in the most
unlikely of places.
“Imprisonment,” she said coolly, “is not to my taste. And if it is not
to yours, I suggest you unlock that door.”
“Admirable restraint,” he said.
“Losing one’s head is a luxury afforded only to those accustomed to
care.”
He made a deep, humming sort of sound, a sound she felt in her belly.
“A woman such as yourself should be accustomed to care.”
She added outrageous to a list that included male, wealthy, and
cultured. “I do not believe we’ve been introduced, Mr. —?”
“The honorific you seek is Your Grace.”
She turned. His face was illuminated by the faint glow spilling from a
lighted sconce.
The duke—if he was truly a duke—was at least a full head taller than
she, but it was his smoldering eyes that sparked recognition. He was the man
from the funeral.
For a split second that might as well have been an eternity, her mind
went blessedly blank. Then, bereft of thought’s direction, her senses began to dance.
Stop, she ordered.
But
he smells so nice, they
whined.
“You’ve surmised you are in no immediate danger.”
But she was in danger. Pure peril, actually—past, present and
future. “Have I surmised correctly?”
TWO
Either they were
swaying, or the room had started to rock. Alicia wasn’t sure which sensation
she should heed. Her weight rested on her right foot, now, her left…but neither
foot was keeping her aloft. She remained upright only because Ashbey held her
against his chest as if she were his cherished bride.
She was not his
cherished bride.
Nor would this be
a marital coupling done with hasty discretion beneath the proper shielding of
sheets—thank heavens.
The duke
restrained his masculine force, but it hung in the air like a scent, taunting.
Tempting. She’d glimpsed his manhood—he was already cocked and fully primed.
He’d said
something before taking her into his arms. Something that had roused her anger.
Only she couldn’t remember his words. She could not remember any words, for that matter. Words were
stupid and useless, a mere nothing next to the wanton anticipation thrilling
her blood.
Tonight, she’d
finally understand the sounds that had filled those long-ago Caribbean
evenings. She’d make sense of the shadows she’d seen dancing on the walls.
She’d learn passion, unrestrained.
She wanted it
all—all the sighs, the groans, the pleasure—and she wanted it now.
Her hands crept up
his hard forearms and into the unbelievable softness of his hair. Tentatively,
she stroked his neck.
He ceased swaying,
and a rumbling noise tore from his core. The desperate sound unleashed a sense
of power, as if he had been formed for her and her alone.
“Kiss me.” She
lifted her face.
He guided her
mouth to his. The slide of his lips and the exploration of his tongue combined.
This was more than a kiss. The heat of his mouth promised all she needed.
Greedily, she demanded more.
“Slow,” he said
through a ragged breath.
She shook her head
no. Desire’s waves were rollicking and fast. Why wade tentatively into the
ocean when she longed to dive and submerge?
She hadn’t felt
him loosen the laces of her dressing gown, but the silk slipped from her
shoulders down into the crooks of her arms.
THREE
Lady Stone
stirred, releasing him from his thoughts. He planted a kiss on her shoulder.
Even her skin was sweet.
“Mmmm,” she
responded.
Carefully, he
brushed the hair from her face. “Good morning, Lady Stone.”
Dream’s mist
cleared from her eyes. “Alicia,” she whispered. And then, she smiled.
An unfamiliar
feeling entered his heart—light and heady, as if he were galloping free.
“Alicia.” He
tested the name. The consonants spilled over tongue like water. Alicia.
Now he understood
why she had, at first, refused to call him Ash. The gift of her name was more
intimate a gesture than anything they’d yet shared.
Too intimate.
He’d pleasured
Lady Stone. He could remain thankful, even devoted to Lady Stone from afar. But
Alicia? Alicia was someone he must
gather up close and protect.
A discordant note
clanged in his soul.
The best way he
could protect Alicia was to let her go.
“Good morning,
Ash.”
He gathered her
into his arms and held tight.
“Ah, Ash,” she
sighed.
How could a single
sigh transport him from despair to—what was that word? Was there a word for
feeling all would be right with the world?
She pulled away.
Her lids swept down as her cheeks pinked. “I require a bit of privacy.”
“Of course.”
He set her free.
Reluctantly.
She glanced back
half way across the room, her shy, sweet smile more dangerous than a primed
pistol. Then, she disappeared into the adjoining chamber, but not before
nervously adjusting her shift.
Why was she
nervous? She was utterly perfect. She’d always be utterly perfect. At least, to
him. He settled back into the pillows, propping his head on his arm.
The child of a
madman, even a madman with a ducal title, was bound to be lonely. His father
had never harmed him, but he thought
it wise to act as everyone else in the household and keep out of his father’s
way.
Alone in his
chambers, he’d taken comfort in sounds of human activity—cleaning, brushing,
polishing…the clank of dishes, the swish of a gardener’s scythe. But this was
the sound he had longed for—the sound of someone for whom he cared, going about
a trivial occupation. Life, shared.
His chest
pierced—the price he’d have to pay for the return of his feeling. But his three
stolen days were not over.
She emerged with
another, private smile.
Not in the least.
What Readers Are Saying:
"Great characters. Great sex. Great story." -Author Abigail Sharp
"Ms LaCapra has loaded this book with drama, a bit of angst (but
notanoverdose), a sprinkle of humor and sizzle. I was glued to this bookfrom
start to finish, it's just that good." -Deb Diem, Goodreads
"Her Duke at Daybreak is a steamy romance but it is so much more. It is
the joining of two lost souls." -Kelly Tyree, Goodreads
"This is my first experience of Wendy's books , it won't be the last. Her
characters are wonderful and her writing is riveting." -Maggie Whitworth,
Goodreads
"This was a Happily Ever After that almost didn't happen so that makes it
all the more enjoyable when it finally comes." -Diane, Goodreads
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About the Author
Historical Romance author Wendy LaCapra writes award-winning books reviewers describe as ‘heart-pounding, entrancing’, ‘lusciously romantic and sparkling with wit.’ As a teen, Wendy discovered spine-tingling gothics in her local public library, inspiring her to craft her own seductive tales full of secrets and scandal. She lives with her husband in a quirky, historic building in NYC and loves a girls’ night in. For new release, sale alerts and other news, sign up at http://bit.ly/GetWendyNews
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The excerpt sounds great.
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