A governess and her secret take an invincible duke by storm ➱ Her Duke at Midnight (Mythic Dukes) Historical Paranormal Romance by Wendy LaCapra Book Tour with Guest Post and giveaway
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.
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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?
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?
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
** Get it FREE for a limited time!! **
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(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.
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?”
His Dutchess at Eventide
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.
Of Mountains and Menace
I’m very glad to be here on A
Wonderful World of Words. That picture of Lake Tahoe is just dreamy! I’ve spent
a lot of time in Tahoe over the years. Why? Because I love mountains, of
course. I blame Heidi. When I was a toddler, I sat in on rehearsals for a
production of Heidi and, despite living in a very flat southern part of the US
state of New Jersey, mountains took their place in my imagination.
So, as things deeply buried in a
writer’s subconscious often do, mountains, or rather one mountain, embedded
itself into in my new release, Her Duke at Daybreak.
The books hero, the Duke of
Hurtheven, has a vast estate which includes a mountain. The reluctant heroine,
Hera, is nursemaid to his friend’s children and, though attracted enough to the
duke to begin an illicit affair, holds herself back for a very good reason.
Hurtheven, on the other hand, falls hard—and is willing to throw caution to the
wind. He teasingly lists his mountain as an asset in his favor at several
points in the story.
In the following scene, Hurtheven,
Hera, and her young charges, Fee and Delmare, are on a picnic and Hera finally
catches a glimpse of the mountain—and of the Duke’s growing affection.
Fee laughed as she caught her breath, looking very much like
Hera felt when she had Hurtheven’s attention. They had both better take care.
“There!” Fee pointed over Hera’s shoulder.
Hera turned around and her breath caught in her throat; the
sight was so lovely.
From this aspect, the view that had been hidden behind a
copse of trees, revealed itself in full splendor. The hills were layered with
mists that lent an almost ethereal nature to the whole scene. She’d thought she
was partial to the sea, or at least to mighty rivers, but this—this had its own
majesty.
“There,” Hurtheven repeated with a wink. “Mine.”
But he wasn’t looking at the mountain. He was looking
straight at her.
He shouldn’t treat her with such familiarity, even if his
warm regard made her heart skip.
She sent him a haughty expression. “You said it was a mountain.”
“I beg your pardon!” he said with mock horror. “It is a mountain.”
“No.” She shook her head. “That is a hill. A large hill, I’ll grant you…”
“Hill?! A hill!” Fee bounded between them. “She says that
looks like a hill.”
“Well,” Delmare put in. “It doesn’t look dramatic like the
mountains in Scotland.”
The duke turned toward the view and placed his hands on his
hips. “That, I’ll have everyone know,
is a perfectly good, English mountain.”
“To be fair, there isn’t a jagged peak,” Delmare noted. “And there isn’t any snow.”
“Hills are rolling, pleasant. Mountains have menace.
That”—Hurtheven pointed to the hill—“has menace.”
“Well, ma’am?” Delmare asked. “Is it a mountain?”
“I suspect that’s a question for a cartographer.” She
couldn’t allow the flirtation to go on any longer. “But the view”—her gaze
involuntarily flicked to the duke—"is beautiful.”
I hope you’ve enjoyed this snippet
from Her Duke at Midnight. And I hope that your gaze, too, lands on something
breathtaking and inspiring today.
Wendy LaCapra
MYTHIC DUKES TRILOGY
https://linktr.ee/wendylacapra
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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This looks like an addictive book. Thanks for sharing.
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