DARK DUKE, BOOK THREE IN THE AWARD-WINNING NOBLE PASSIONS
SERIES
RELEASE DATE: FEBRUARY 12th
The Third Book in the Scorching Noble Passions Series by
Sabrina York Releases!
Fans of Sabrina York’s steamy Regency series have
been eagerly awaiting the release of Dark Duke, the third book (following award
winning Folly and Dark Fancy) in which Edward Wyeth, the Dark Duke of Moncrieff, finally meets his
match in the form of a flame-haired Scottish spitfire.
Noble Passions: Follow the decadent exploits of
friends and enemies as they find love and passion in the glittering world of
the Regency—and its dark underbelly. Each book is a stand-alone read.
TWEET: DARK DUKE, Book 3 in the acclaimed #NoblePassionsSeries from @ellorascave releases! Edward is naughty. http://www.ellorascave.com/dark-duke.html
Dark Duke
Sabrina York
Noble Passions, Book Three
Edward Wyeth, the Dark Duke of
Moncrieff’s life has been turned on its end. His well-ordered home has been
invaded. By destitute relatives. From Scotland. How on earth can he write Lord
Hedon’s salacious novels with hellions battling in the garden and starting
fires in the library? But with the onslaught has come a delicious diversion.
His cousin’s companion, the surprisingly intriguing Kaitlin MacAllister. He is
determined to seduce her. Using her desperate need for funds and her talents as
an artist, he convinces her to draw naughty pictures for his naughtier books…and
he draws her into his decadent web.
But Kaitlin has a secret. She’s fled
Scotland—and a very determined betrothed. When Edward’s cousin is kidnapped and
held in her stead, Kaitlin is honor bound to return to her homeland and rescue
her—much to Edward’s chagrin.
Because suddenly he can’t bear the
thought of Kaitlin marrying another man. He can’t bear the thought of losing
her at all.
A
Romantica® Regency historical erotic
romance from Ellora’s Cave
By reading
any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are
under the age of 18, please exit this site.
An
Excerpt From: DARK DUKE
Copyright
© SABRINA YORK, 2014
All
Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Edward skirted the mêlée in the
garden and made his way to the far end of the estate, where there was nothing
but flowers and trees and a placid little pond. Nothing to attract diminutive
fiends bent on mischief. He would sit in the folly until his temperature
returned to normal.
Perhaps until spring.
Dear God. He’d had no idea having
the Wyeths of Perth take over his house would be such a nightmare. If he had
suspected as much, he would have turned them away at the start. They would
probably have crawled in under the door. Through the cracks in the flue. Vermin
had a way of finding entrance.
But now. Now they were here.
Entrenched.
He had to get rid of them.
Perhaps he could send them back to
Scotland.
Scotland would revile him for it,
but he had little use for rocky tors, lochs and sheep.
Then he thought of Violet and his
heart lurched. It would crush her to be trundled back to what she referred to
as “the bleak wilderness.” She was looking forward to a glittering season in
London. She was seventeen. She needed a husband. A husband of quality. That
might be difficult to find in the wilds of Scotland.
And Ned. Ned was twenty. He was just
starting to find his way with the ton. He’d made some friends—decent fellows.
He’d even been receiving invitations to game at White’s.
The two of them—the normal
two—deserved better than being lumped in with the rest.
He whacked at a rosebud as he
passed. It exploded into a flutter of petals. He refused to feel any sympathy.
He couldn’t send them packing.
Then what?
Hell. He was a duke of the realm. He
had six houses spread throughout the empire. Why hadn’t he thought to purchase
a spare in London?
Aha!
That was brilliant.
He would. He’d buy them their own
house. Move them all, lock stock and—well, maybe not the barrels, as the older
boys did like to drink. He’d move them all into their own domicile.
With Aunt Hortense. Let her manage
them.
His life would once again be
orderly. He would be the master of his own abode. Free to pursue the life of a
wealthy dilettante.
Perfect.
He rounded the bend with a satisfied
smile on his face. The trickle of the fountain in the pond was a balm to his
tormented soul. Birds sang in the trees. The sun—well, it almost shone. It was
a beautiful day.
Soon, the world would be right
again.
Soon, they would all be gone.
He skipped up the steps of the folly
with a lightness of heart he hadn’t felt in ages. A book on the bench snagged
his attention and his mood dipped, but only a bit. Someone had been here. But
they were gone.
He picked it up and flipped through
it and stilled.
Good God.
It was a sketch book.
The first page was an attempt at
this scene. The flowers and trees, the pond and the little fountain. Not very
good. But the second arrested his attention. It was a simple line drawing of
Violet. And it was stunning. The artist had managed to depict her beauty, but
also captured that glint in her eye, the particular quirk of her lips. Her
soul.
The next sketch was one of Ned,
showing a brash young man, standing insouciantly with his hands shoved into his
pockets, whistling a silent tune. The next was of the twins—whatever their
names were—dark heads together plotting some manner of mayhem.
It was so realistic Edward expected
them to leap from the page and whack him with a cricket bat.
But it was the last sketch in the
book that stole his breath. It was a portrait, in profile. His own face. But
not an Edward he would ever recognize. This man was heroic, tragic, a solitary
soldier. It was only a few lines drawn in charcoal, but it revealed so much
about him. Things he didn’t want anyone to ever know.
It was horrifying. And remarkable.
“Your Grace.”
He snapped the book shut and spun
around.
Of course. What’s her name. The
girl. The owl. From last night.
“Oh, you found it.” She stepped into
the folly and took the book from his hands. He did not know why he let it go.
“You left it here.” An accusation.
Really? He hadn’t intended for it to come out like that.
She chuckled. “I had to go rescue
Hamish. I was coming back.”
“What…why did you have to rescue
Hamish?” This was her work? She saw him like that? And hell, she was a damn
fine hand. How he would love to turn such talent to…darker purposes. What a
pity she was such a prude. The kind of work he could offer her would make her
rich—rich enough to quit serving as Violet’s companion.
But she would never do it. No decent
woman would.
He must be crazed, truly crazed, to
even think on it.
The gripping sketch of his wounded
countenance lingered in his brain. If she could do that, if she could see
through to his soul and bring it to life on paper—
“And then he got stuck. In the tree.
So I had to rescue him.”
Lord. She’d been talking. He’d
missed the entire explanation. No matter. The question had been purely
rhetorical.
“How long have you been drawing?”
She winced, clutched the book to her
breast. He recalled what fine breasts they were. “I… What?”
“How long have you been drawing?
You’re quite good.”
“You looked at my book?” She
squawked as though he’d just admitted to peering up her skirts. The lemony face
returned. A beetled brow and pursed lips. It was, upon reflection, rather adorable.
“It was lying here.”
“You shouldn’t look at someone’s
sketchbook.”
“You shouldn’t leave it where it can
be found.” He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned at her. Damn, he
loved her accent.
She sputtered. “I told you. Hamish
and Tay—”
“Tay?”
“Taylor. Hamish and Taylor were
building a fort in a tree—”
“Yes. Yes. I know. You had to rescue
him. Tell me, have they always been this much trouble?”
She blew out a breath. “You have no
idea.”
They both laughed. It was a nice
moment, because it seemed, for that brief flash of time, they were friends,
bound in mutual misery.
And then he went and ruined it by
letting his lust intrude. “So tell me, what did you think of that book?”
She tipped her head. “What book?”
“The one I gave you last night.”
She blinked several times, as though
she had to try very hard to remember. “Oh. That
book. I didn’t read it.”
He stepped closer. “Ah. You like to
look at the pictures, then?” He knew the sort.
“Look at the… What? No, your Grace—”
“Edward.” He infused his voice with
a low thrum.
“Your
Grace. I didn’t have a chance to open it.”
Why petulance curled within him, he
had no clue. “What do you mean you didn’t have a chance to open it?” She was
supposed to have read it. Or at least looked at the pictures. She was supposed
to be gazing at him, right now, with a dewy look.
She brushed an invisible speck from
her skirt. “There was…a distraction.”
Well hell. “What kind of
distraction?”
Her lips pursed. The look she shot
him was not dewy in the slightest.
Still, he wanted to kiss her.
He wasn’t sure why. She was
certainly not the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But her face had
character and charm—especially when she smiled. Her figure was full—the way he
liked them—but she didn’t show it off to its best effect. In fact, if he hadn’t
known what lay beneath the thick layers of crinoline and bombazine, he would
have been fooled. She was prickly as a hedgehog and smacked him down at every
turn.
So why did he want to pull her into
his arms and smother her mouth with his?
Perhaps because of all those things.
Then again, perhaps just because.
So he did.
He took the girl—whose name he could
not remember, whose face he could not forget—into his arms and kissed her. It
was a gentle buss, as kisses went, but extremely sublime. Because he’d
surprised her.
Her lips were open, as though poised
to speak. He took full advantage, sweeping in his tongue to dab at hers,
nibbling and licking and tasting her sweet breath.
The prick at his side was not a
surprise. He’d expected it.
He lifted his head and stared down
into her eyes. Her expression was dazed and determined and perhaps a little
dewy. “Not this time, darling,” he murmured. He took the knife from her hand
and tossed it aside and then pulled her more fully against him.
And ah. She was soft. Sweet. Her
breasts pressed against his chest. Her hips molded the cradle of his groin. Of
course, he was the one doing the molding, but she didn’t fight him.
No. She sighed and tipped her head
to the side so he could deepen the kiss. She tasted like ambrosia. A
tantalizing flavor of cinnamon and woman and surrender. His ardor rose, and
with it, his cock. He rubbed it against her belly.
She stiffened and tried to push
away, muttering something into his mouth that sounded like “No.”
He changed his tack, running his
lips down her cheek and along the line of her jaw to nestle in the crook of her
neck. She shuddered. Some groan-like sound emanated from her throat. She
clutched at his hair.
Thusly encouraged, he sucked at the
tender skin of her neck. Nipped.
“Oh! Saints preserve us,” she
whispered.
“The saints don’t care,” he
responded, switching to the other side of her neck. He found a spot that
delighted her even more and feasted there. In her distraction, she didn’t stop
the palm skimming over her ribs to cup a breast.
He encased her. Ah. Exquisite. Full
and round and pliable. He thumbed a nipple, testing its rigidity. She dipped as
her knees gave way. He caught her. Swung her up in his arms and carried her to
the bench.
From long experience, he knew better
than to give a woman a moment to think. So as soon as he had her settled across
his lap and firmly braced against the wall of the folly, he kissed her again.
With one hand, he stroked her nipples while with the other, he slowly drew up
her skirts.
#
DEVLIN’S
DARE - BOOK 5 IN THE ACCLAIMED TRYST ISLAND
SERIES
RELEASE DAY- FEBRUARY 1st
TWEET: "Scorching hot series." Get DEVLIN’S
DARE, Tryst Island #5, today #standalone #eroticromance http://www.amazon.com/Sabrina-York/e/B00856PDEO/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1
The Fifth
Book in Sabrina York’s Scorching Tryst Island Series Releases!
Fans of the Tryst Island Books have
been eagerly awaiting the next installment. Not only is it here, it is
premiering at a special introductory price as a thank you to loyal
readers.
The scorching follow up to
bestselling Rebound, Dragonfly Kisses,
Smoking Holt and Heart of Ash, Devlin’s
Dare will release at a special price of 99¢ for two weeks, before
going to its regular price of $2.99 on February 15th.
DEVLIN’S
DARE—Book 5 in the Tryst Island Series
A No-Strings Fling Becomes Something For
Which He Will Risk All
Devlin
Fox has always been a player. A horny bee flitting from flower to flower. He
has no idea why the sexy minx he meets on the way to Tryst Island affects him
the way she does. Arousal—for her—hits him like a fist to the gut and he can’t
stop thinking about her.
But
Tara Romano doesn’t “do” commitments. For good reason. When she proposes they
be “friends with benefits,” Devlin can’t figure out why the idea annoys him so
much. It should be the perfect scenario. A gorgeous, alluring woman who only
wants him for his body… He wants, needs,
more from Tara, so he hits upon a plan to turn their no-strings-fling into
something lasting. A series of tantalizing dares—dares Tara cannot resist.
an
excerpt from
Book
5 in the Tryst Island Series
By reading any further, you are stating that you are at
least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.
“That’s Devlin Fox?” She
glared across the restaurant. It wasn’t bad enough that the gorgeous guy she
ran into on the ferry turned out to be friends with the douche in the ascot
she’d been running from. No.
He had to be her worst enemy too.
Damn. Damn damn damn.
“You know him?” Bella asked.
“He writes a Foodie Blog.” Tara glowered around the table, trying
hard not to snarl. Or pout. “He gave Stud Muffin a bad review.”
“What?” Cam squawked.
Jamie shook her head. “Why did he do that?”
Tara crossed her arms over her chest. She’d spent her life
learning her craft. Spent her life savings opening her own bakery. Spent years
building clientele. Then, with one crappy review, business had tanked. Totally
into the toilet. In one fell swoop, many of her regulars had stopped coming in.
She wasn’t sure she’d be able to make the bills this month, which
was devastating.
And all because of him.
It was unfair for one man to have so much power.
And why had he panned her bakery? “Because I don’t have
gluten-free.” She muttered, then added, under her breath, “Big baby.”
Still, gluten-free was a huge deal in Seattle. She’d spent the
past week working up recipes. And fantasizing about wreaking vengeance on a
certain blogger.
It had been a mere fantasy, until now. But now…
Kaitlin shifted closer, drawing Tara’s attention. “What are you
thinking?” she asked in a whisper, her features tight.
Tara froze. It didn’t do to think
around Kaitlin. Not that the elfin redhead read minds, or at least that’s what
she claimed. But she seemed to know
things.
“Nothing.” Tara made it a point to bat her lashes.
Kaitlin’s nose rumpled, as though she smelled something nasty.
Like a lie.
But hell. Tara couldn’t tell Kaitlin what she was really thinking
because Kaitlin—the sweet, innocent soul that she was—would try to talk her out
of it. Ramble on about Karma and shit.
No, Tara couldn’t tell anyone what she was really thinking about.
Because she was plotting revenge.
She was going to get Devlin Fox back. And she was going to get him
good.
*
* * * *
“Hi there.”
Devlin turned on the barstool, his trademark smile firmly in
place. Everything within him froze. It was her. That little slice of heaven
from the ferry. Damn. She was as hot as he remembered.
She sidled up next to him and the chatter of the bar receded.
Fascination—and something else—rose.
“Well hello there.”
He liked her scent, something floral and light. He liked her heat
as she pressed against his side. She lowered her long lush lashes and peeped up
at him through the fringe. Damn, that was sexy. She licked her lips. That was
sexy too.
“I never got to thank you,” she purred.
“Th-Thank me?” Was that her hand? On his thigh?
Shit yeah.
“For saving me.” Her fingers flexed. “I would have tumbled to my
death if you hadn’t grabbed me.”
“I doubt you would have tumbled to your death. Disfigurement,
perhaps. Dire injury. But not death. Don’t exaggerate.”
She laughed, a low chortle. “Well… Thank you.” She leaned closer
and whispered, “Can I buy you a drink?”
Devlin blinked. He’d been hit on in bars before, but no woman had
ever offered to buy him a drink.
She might just be a perfect woman. “Sure.”
“What’s your poison?”
“Whiskey sour.”
She signaled to the bartender.
“So…I’m Devlin.”
“Devlin.” She cooed. Actually cooed.
“And you are…?”
“Interested.”
He jumped a little as her hand skated up his thigh. His pulse
skipped. “I…ah…yes. But what can I call you?” He had a pretty good idea where
this was headed, and he wanted to know what to cry out as he sank into her
steamy depths. It was only polite to know a woman’s name at a moment like that.
She pursed her lips, as though she were thinking it over. Or
thinking about something else. Her thumb snaked up. Nudged his balls, ever so
lightly, and through thick denim, but he felt it like an electrical charge.
“Call me Sugar.”
“Sugar.” Oh yeah. She was sweet.
“Would you…like to go for a walk?”
“A walk?” His cock lurched. All thoughts of that drink faded.
“It’s a beautiful night…”
She looked over her shoulder and then threaded her fingers in his,
leading him toward the back of the bar. He didn’t know why they weren’t heading
for the front door, but didn’t much care.
She was a beautiful woman. She wanted him. And he was just drunk
enough to follow her anywhere she led.
He shot a glance at Parker who sent him a thumbs up.
They barely made it out the back door of the bar before she kissed
him. Damn. Backed him up against the wall, raked her fingers through his hair,
pulled his head down and took his mouth.
And damn, she was a good kisser. She ate him with heat and passion
and carnivorous zeal. He responded in kind, thrusting his tongue into her
mouth. He nearly passed out when she sucked on it, nibbled it, toyed with it.
He couldn’t help imagining her doing the same to his cock.
Her palm roved over his chest and made its way down to his hips.
He didn’t dare move as she slowly teased the band of his jeans. She pulled back
and held his gaze as she popped the snap.
“Mmm,” she murmured, reaching in. His eyes crossed as she molded
his length. Squeezed. “Such a big boy.” She licked her lips and his brain
short-circuited. When she went to her knees before him and blew a hot breath on
him through the cotton of his briefs, he nearly lost consciousness. “I want to
taste you,” she said. “Take off your pants.”
Holy God. Yes.
In a frenzy, he kicked off his shoes, and ripped off his jeans,
hopping from one foot to the other. He held still, frozen in place, as she
hooked her thumbs in his briefs and eased them down revealing his eager cock.
She dragged his underwear down until they pooled at his ankles.
He heard the catch in her moan. Felt the trace of a warm finger
around his swollen head and down to the base. He shuddered.
“Ah. Yes,” she said, coming close. Her heat caressed him. His
knees knocked. She fisted him. Pumped. Once. Twice. Blood pounded at his
temples. Thrummed in his cock. She bent closer. Her damp breath kissed the
head. “Such a big dick,” she said.
If he’d been in his right mind, her tone would have warned him,
but he wasn’t in his right mind. He was a little drunk and a lot horny and
there was a gorgeous woman on her knees before him with his cock in her fist.
Her mouth hovered over the tip.
Yes. Yes. Just a little more…
She released him and stood up in a rush. Her beautiful, seductive
expression morphed into something bitter. He gaped at her, stunned.
“Yeah,” she said, propping her fists on her hips. “You, Devlin
Fox, are a big dick.”
And then she left. Whirled on her heel and left him standing
there, half-naked, leaning against the grimy brick wall behind a grungy bar.
And she took his jeans.
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