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The final book in the Mythic Dukes Trilogy, following Her Duke at Daybreak and His Duchess at Eventide.
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
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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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