The Rose and the Duke (Ravishing Rosewoods Book 1) by Jillian Eaton

Author:Jillian Eaton [Eaton, Jillian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-02-14T00:00:00+00:00

In a separate part of the house, Perth was suffering through an equally unpleasant conversation.

His mother’s room was down the hall from his, and she’d cornered him the second he had reached the top of the stairs.

“Come to my sitting room for some tea,” she had insisted, and who was he to deny her?

Whatever small number of redeeming qualities he possessed, they had come from his mother. If there was decency in him (which was debatable), it was due to her influence. She’d tempered his father’s hardness with softness. Brushed away the late duke’s snide criticism with gentle compliments. Helped to coax out the bitterness when it threatened to sour him against the life he’d been given. A life most would kill to have, and rightly so. To be a duke in a time of political and social unrest was to be nigh on untouchable. But it wasn’t all roses.

There was pain there. Mountains of it. Built up over years of being talked down to, and mocked, and derided. If not for his mother to show him that there was still kindness to be had, there wasn’t a doubt in Perth’s mind that he’d be even more of a cynical bastard than he already was.

And so, if she approached him and asked for his company while she indulged in a sober nightcap, then he wasn’t going to refuse her. Even though two minutes after sitting down, he very much wished that he had.

“What is your opinion of the Rosewood girls?” she inquired without preamble.

“They have a loud rooster.” He poured himself a cup of tea, then added a liberal splash of brandy. “And their house is falling apart.”

“It does appear to be in a gradual state of disrepair,” the dowager duchess allowed. “Not unexpected, given that their brother has been traveling abroad and they have been in mourning. I am sure once Lord Clarenmore returns, he will see to the renovations. An estate of this size is far too grand an undertaking for a woman to handle on her own, particularly when she is busy looking after her sisters.”

“You mean Lenora.” He cleared his throat. Sipped his tea. Then corrected himself in the hopes that his mother hadn’t noticed the familiar air with which he spoke of their hostess. “Lady Lenora.”

“Yes.” A fond smile touched the corners of Anastasia’s thin lips. “She is the very image of her mother. Lady Clarenmore had the same black hair and serious way about her. When she set her mind to something, there was nothing she could not achieve.”

That sounded like Lenora.

Obstinate, headstrong, and stubborn.

So damned stubborn.

He’d gone out of his way to avoid her over these past few days. It hadn’t been easy. She was bloody everywhere. And even when she wasn’t, her perfume had a way of lingering in her wake. Especially now that he knew, intimately, how alluring her scent was.

Lilacs in spring.

She smelled like lilacs in spring…with a touch of citrus.

It was an intoxicating combination.

Sweet and sultry.

Much like Lenora herself.

Maybe a tad light on the sweet, as he’d met nicer badgers.

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