The Duke is Mightier than the Sword (Dukes in Danger Book 3) by Emily E K Murdoch

Author:Emily E K Murdoch [Murdoch, Emily E K]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2023-05-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

July 24, 1810

If she could just get that line to rhyme…

Hmm, that was a tricky one. Sarah glared at the pocketbook, as though that would magic up a rhyme for “battle.”

Rattle, cattle, mettle? No, not quite. Prattle. Tattle. Chattel…

No, none of them quite worked. She couldn’t write about a baby’s rattle in the middle of a desperate and vicious attack on—Sarah’s eyes gleamed. Perhaps not, but she could certainly describe the swords as rattling, couldn’t she? A great and glorious rattle—

“Sarah?”

Sarah bit the end of her pencil, tasting the lead. It was so close to being good, she could almost hear it echoing around a great room with hundreds listening.

And with a great sigh, the world’d never heard,

The hero parted his lips and uttered a word.

No, it was no good. Placing the pocketbook in her lap, Sarah leaned back and closed her eyes, allowing her mind to dreamily linger.

Montague. Montague Lancaster, Duke of Caelfall.

With each passing fencing lesson, her ability to prevent herself from launching into the man’s arms was getting more strained.

How did any woman manage it? There was something so delightfully delicious about him. Sarah had discovered her inability to resist since that shameful kissing situation she had managed to get herself tangled in.

“Now kiss me. For research.”

“Sarah!”

And it would be most wanton, Sarah knew, to concoct a situation for it to occur again.

Most wanton.

Such a shame he was starting to overtake all her waking moments. Whenever not in the Wessex College gymnasium, in fact, she was thinking of when she could next be with him.

Montague had captured her heart in a way no other gentleman had. Sarah could not explain it, had never sought out such a connection…yet it was powerful. She could not break it. In fact, she sometimes permitted herself to daydream the distance in rank melted away, and Montague would look at her and realize he could never live without—

“Sarah Lockwood!”

Sarah started.

The morning room of the Lockwood residence was picked out in blue. The light blue looked particularly beautiful as morning light streamed into the room. There was an elegant set of chairs seated around a bay window, a console table with a vase of flowers, and a chess board laid out. Her mother always said, “So people do not think we are dullards.”

Neither of them had ever played it.

Mrs. Lockwood was seated in one of the chairs by the window, enjoying two of her favorite pastimes simultaneously: drinking tea, and people watching through the window.

No, three of her favorite pastimes, Sarah corrected herself with a smile. Drinking tea, people watching, and criticizing her daughter.

“Yes, Mama?” she said aloud.

Her mother frowned, as though checking her tone for cheek. Unable to find any, she said brightly, “And how is your poem getting along, my dear?”

Sarah waited for the cutting remark, despondence growing in her chest, but it did not come. Mrs. Lockwood sipped her tea—a bergamot—with evident pleasure while she waited.

It was so unlike her mother, Sarah had to take a moment to collect herself.

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