Tight Laced by Roxy Soulé

Author:Roxy Soulé [Soulé, Roxy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Book I of the Dragon Duchess Series
Goodreads: 25839932
Publisher: words in a hurry
Published: 2015-08-10T16:00:00+00:00

The impish innkeeper was quite pleased with himself, that much was clear. He thrust the door open, letting loose a clod of dirt that poofed up in the air and settled on the surfaces of the somewhat filthy room. He exclaimed, “The last couple who slept here created an heir. They brought him round just this past week. I believe the space to be imbued with the spirit of fertility.”

Lacy’s face crumpled in disgust. She was likely wondering if the room had been swept since.

Darlington paused at the threshold of the so-called Honeymoon Suite, and turned to his would-be bride. He meant his words to be wry, and expected the good lady to be amused. “Shall I carry you?”

Instead, the dear maiden glared at him with such opprobrium, he was reminded of Queen Victoria herself.

“I will warm some water for the stand-up, Your Grace. And after you are settled, I’ll take my leave.”

With that, the man produced a wink.

Lacilia watched the small fellow amble down the hall and down the flight of stairs, and then she lit into Darlington, whispering harshly. “I can see that this amuses you greatly, Duke. But I shall tell you right now, you are sleeping in the barn with the team.”

Darlington smiled, surveying the crumpled linen, ripped curtains and mildewed canopy cover. “It might be tidier in the stable.”

Lacy’s hands quickly found their way to her narrow hips. The loose gown she wore rumpled at her waist. “This is a wretched situation.”

“At least we are out of the storm.”

“We are out of one storm and into yet another. What do you think is going to happen once we are found out?”

“I won’t tell a soul, Lala, and I don’t think the mad dwarf has much credibility.”

“Well nothing is at stake for you, is it? Acton shan’t imprison you for prostitution, after all. Also, do not, not ever, call me Lala. I despise that name.”

“Is that what has your knickers in a knot, my dear? Acton’s men stampeding the countryside, hauling tarts off to the gallows?”

Lacy seethed. “You are not to mention my knickers. What do you take me for?”

Darlington grazed her with a lengthy up-and-down, allowing himself the response she’d set up. “An angry, beautiful, confused, utterly exhausted, young lady. In a silly frock.”

“What? I’ll have you know this dress came from Paris. All the artists and philosophers are wearing the rational gown. Why, even Oscar Wilde—”

“Oscar Wilde! That rummy young cove?”

“He is not rummy. I had the good fortune to have met the man at Oxford last season. Mark my words, Duke, he will become one of the most important writers of our era.”

“You met him? Was he wearing one of those robes? Or perhaps all done up in a frock coat, his moustache waxed tighter than his curls?”

“He is not a man of whiskers, nor cruelty.”

Darlington huffed. Surprising himself with pangs of jealousy. Or possibly envy, he had to admit. The Oxford set had always snubbed him. Dukes of the peerage were often

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