Title: Heir to the Duke
Author: Jane
Ashford
Series: the
Duke’s Sons, #1
Pubdate: January
5th, 2016
ISBN: 9781492621560
Book 1 of The Duke’s Sons series
From bestselling author Jane Ashford comes a brand new
series of sparkling Regency Romance
Life is predictable for a Duke’s first son
As eldest son of the Duke of Langford, Nathaniel Gresham
sees his arranged marriage to Lady Violet Devere as just another obligation to
fulfill—highly suitable, if unexciting. But as Violet sets out to transform
herself from dowdy wallflower to dazzling young duchess-to-be, proper Nathaniel
sets out to prove he’s a match for his new bride’s vivacity and daring.
Or so he once thought…
Oppressed by her family all her life, Lady Violet can’t wait
to enjoy the freedom of being a married woman. But then Violet learns her
family’s sordid secret, and she’s faced with an impossible choice—does she tell
Nathaniel and risk losing him, or does she hide it and live a lie?
Jane Ashford
discovered Georgette Heyer in junior high school and was captivated by the
glittering world and witty language of Regency England. That delight led her to
study English literature and travel widely in Britain and Europe. Her
historical and contemporary romances have been published in Sweden, Italy, England,
Denmark, France, Russia, Latvia, Slovenia, and Spain, as well as the U.S.
Twenty-six of her new and backlist Regency romances are being published by
Sourcebooks. Jane has been nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book
Reviews. She is currently rather nomadic.
Buy Links:
Amazon: http://amzn.to/222MBai
Apple: http://apple.co/1m2nt2B
Chapters: http://bit.ly/1IQWkKv
Indiebound: http://bit.ly/1I5j2i1
Jane Ashford’s
latest release, Heir to the Duke, comes out this January! To celebrate, we
invite you to get to know Sebastian Gresham, one of the Duke of Langford’s six
sons, and to read an excerpt from Heir to
the Duke!
Full Name: Sebastian
Occupation: Major
in a cavalry regiment
Height: 6’ 3”
Hair Color: Auburn
Eye Color: Blue
Age: 32
How would you
describe yourself?
I’m no dab hand with words. I’m a simple soldier, more at
home in the saddle or with a saber in my hand than in a drawing room. A fellow
you can trust to guard your back.
If your brothers had
to describe you, what would they say?
Thick headed. They joke about it often enough. I can
out-wrestle any two of them at once, however.
What is your favorite
way to spend your time?
On horseback. Never happier.
What’s one piece of
advice you would give the newlyweds (Nathaniel and Violet)?
I wouldn’t presume to advise newlyweds of any stripe.
Whatever would I have to tell them?
If money was no
object and you had no commitments for the next two weeks, what would you do?
I might take a run to Ireland and look over the latest crop
of colts and fillies at the breeders. A cavalryman relies on his horses.
An Excerpt:
Nathaniel
Gresham, Viscount Hightower, stirred in his sleep. His hands groped for
bedclothes, found nothing. Sensing wrongness, his consciousness rose through
layers of befuddlement and wisps of dreams. He opened his eyes to find a gaping
maw of three-inch fangs inches from his throat.
“Aah!”
Nathaniel
threw up his arms to shield his face and twisted to the side. The convulsive
movement brought him right to the edge of a large four-poster bed, and he
scrambled to avoid falling three feet to the floor. He twisted in the opposite
direction and struck out at the sharp, yellowed teeth. They did not snap shut
on his forearm or lunge into his face once more. Indeed, they did not move at
all, except sideways under his blow. There was no snarl or slaver, no spark of
rage in the shiny eye behind the fangs. Nathaniel shoved them farther away and
sat up.
He was stark
naked, on a large bed stripped bare of linens, covered only by a moth-eaten
gray wolf skin. The wretched thing’s head had been carefully placed on his chest,
to ensure the rude awakening. His hips still rested under its hindquarters.
Molting fur peppered the bed. The mere sight of the ancient pelt made his skin
itch. Revolted, he pushed it all the way off and moved to the foot of the bed,
struggling to get his bearings. This wasn’t his bedchamber. The blue-striped
wallpaper was alien, the furnishings unfamiliar; the windows with their slant
of early morning light were in the wrong place. Then he remembered. He was
staying at the Earl of Moreley’s country house, because tomorrow—no, today—he
was to marry the earl’s daughter at their local parish church.
Nathaniel
glared at the wolf skin, then rubbed his hands over his face. This was what it
meant to have five brothers—five younger brothers—on one’s wedding day. Or
rather, on one’s wedding eve, a night they’d insisted upon marking with bowls
of rack punch. Had it been three? Or had he lost count? No wonder they’d kept
filling his glass, if they had this prank planned. Where the devil had they
found a wolf skin in a strange house? And hadn’t he told his father, when
Robert was born in his sixth year, that four sons were quite enough? Even for a
duke, six sons were excessive. At this particular moment, Nathaniel thought
that his parents might have been content with just one.
He rose,
stretching stiff limbs and marveling that he had only a mild headache. Revenge
on his brothers would have to wait for another day. Today, he was getting
married. He was doing his duty to his name and his line, pledging himself to a woman
who would be an admirable duchess when their turn came—may it be far in the
future. The match was eminently suitable. All society acknowledged its
rightness. And despite Violet’s irascible grandmother, the occasional bane of
his existence, he could have no complaints.
Indeed, why
had the word even occurred to him? No one had rushed him into marriage. He had
enjoyed a plenitude of seasons in London and a number of agreeable flirtations
and liaisons with delightful females. Though they had never spoken of it, he
was aware that his parents had given him every opportunity to fall in love. But
the passion that had overtaken them in their young days had not befallen him.
He wasn’t sure why, but once he’d passed thirty he concluded it never would.
He’d had more than enough time to observe that such a bond was rare in the
circles of the haut ton.
Nathaniel
stretched again, his bare limbs a bit chilly. This marriage was certainly not a
penance. He liked Violet very much. They’d been acquainted for years. He did
not know whether she’d had other offers, but he supposed that she too had
waited for love to find her. They had that in common. They were also well
suited by background, had similar tastes, and enjoyed the same even
temperament. When he’d decided that the time for marriage had come, he’d simply
known that she was the proper candidate. He expected their union to be
gracious, harmonious, and ideal for the significant position they would someday
be called upon to fulfill. And now it was time to stop wool- gathering, put on
his dressing gown, and begin this momentous day.
Nathaniel
walked over to the oaken wardrobe on the far wall and opened it.
It was
empty. All his clothes had disappeared.
He stared at
the bare hooks. This part of the prank would be Sebastian’s doing, he imagined.
It had his next younger brother’s touch. Nathaniel met his own gaze in the
mirror set into the wardrobe door, and acknowledged the spark of amused
annoyance in his eyes. His brothers had a fiendish facility for complicated
jests.
The figure
in the glass shook its head. All the sons of the Duke of Langford were tall,
handsome, broad-shouldered men with auburn hair and blue eyes. Sebastian was
the tallest. Robert the wittiest. Randolph was acknowledged as the handsomest,
James the most adventurous, and Alan the smartest. But he was the eldest, and
the heir.
For as long
as he could remember, Nathaniel had felt the weight of his destiny. The others
said it was a burden to have everything done ahead of them, but he’d felt the
onus of being the pattern, setting up the expectations, being the son visitors
scrutinized the most. He would be the next duke; he must show he was worthy.
Thus, he kept a tight rein on his wilder impulses. Instead, he was the one who
came to the rescue when one of his brothers went too far, kicking up a lark.
And so now,
he did not slam the empty wardrobe shut, but simply closed it. He would leave
it to his valet to straighten this out. He wanted hot water for washing, and
then clothes, and then breakfast. He went to ring for Cates, and discovered
that the bell rope had been removed. He could see the wire to which it had been
connected, near the ceiling, twelve feet up. It must have taken two or three of
his brothers to reach so high.
For a moment
he just stood there, staring at it. This final touch would be Robert’s idea, no
doubt. He’d always been the most ingenious, the brother who added the crowning
climax to a prank. Robert would be the one to set the others
guffawing—describing their elder brother slinking through the corridors of the
Earl of Moreley’s house wrapped in a wolf skin, like some sort of demented
ancient Celt. Even Nathaniel had to smile at the picture. How would Violet’s
fierce stickler of a grandmother like that? And all the other near and distant
relations visiting for the wedding? He’d barely met most of them. Perhaps he’d
twine some ivy from outside the window in his hair and attempt a Gaelic war
cry.
Nathaniel
laughed. Truth to tell, it was a splendid prank, unfolding like a puzzle box
upon its hapless victim. All that remained was for him to wiggle out of the
trap so cunningly set.
He eyed the
windows and considered pulling down some of his almost-mother-in-law’s
elaborate draperies to wrap about himself. But one panel would trail behind him
like a coronation robe. The picture was little better than the wolf skin.
Perhaps he would just wait until Cates arrived on his own. It couldn’t be too
much longer. In fact, judging by the sunlight, his valet ought to have appeared
well before now. Where the devil was he?
As if in
answer to this thought, there was a knock at the door.
“Nathaniel?”
The voice
was the last he expected. “Violet?”
“Are you all
right? James said you needed to speak to me most urgent—” The door opened, and
Nathaniel’s promised bride looked around the panels. “Oh!” Her mouth dropped
open.
Nathaniel—stark
naked, next to a bed sporting only a rumpled wolf skin—braced for a shriek, a
shocked retreat, babbled apologies. But Violet just looked at him. Indeed, it
seemed as if she couldn’t tear her eyes away. He could almost feel her gaze
traveling along his skin, as if it left trails of warmth. He saw something stir
in those gray eyes, something he’d never observed before, and his body began to
respond to the possibility of much more than he’d expected from his suitable
marriage. Respond all too eagerly.
Nathaniel
moved over behind the bed. “My brothers’ idea of a joke,” he said with a
gesture toward the wolf skin.
Violet
blinked. Color flooded her cheeks, and she looked away. “How did they...?” Her
voice was rather choked.
“They are
endlessly inventive. They stole my clothes as well. Would you have someone send
Cates to me? I would ring but”—he pointed to the bell wire—“they were quite
thorough.”
Violet
glanced at the denuded wire, swallowed, and gave a quick nod. “Of course.” In
the next instant, she was gone.
“Well,
well,” murmured Nathaniel to the wolf. “That was interesting.”
His days of
being capable of interest long past, the wolf made no reply.
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