Dukes By the Dozen
Alyssa Alexander
Elizabeth Essex
Madeline Martin
Grace Burrowes
Gina Conkle
Ella Quinn
May McGoldrick
Bronwen Evans
Jennifer Ashley
Anna Harrington
Heather Snow
Sabrina York
Eileen Dreyer
DUKES BY THE DOZEN
Copyright © 2019 by Alyssa Alexander, Elizabeth Essex, Madeline Martin, Grace Burrowes, Gina Conkle, Ella Quinn, May McGoldrick, Bronwen Evans, Jennifer Ashley, Anna Harrington, Heather Snow, Sabrina York, Eileen Dreyer
* * *
DUKE IN WINTER
Copyright © 2019 by Alyssa Alexander
* * *
THE DIFFERENCE ONE DUKE MAKES
Copyright © 2019 by Elizabeth Essex
* * *
DISCOVERING THE DUKE
Copyright © 2019 by Madeline Martin
* * *
THE DUKE AND THE APRIL FLOWERS
Copyright © 2019 by Grace Burrowes
* * *
LOVE LETTERS FROM A DUKE
Copyright © 2019 by Gina Conkle
* * *
HER PERFECT DUKE
Copyright © 2019 by Ella Quinn
* * *
HOW TO DITCH A DUKE
Copyright © 2019 by May McGoldrick
* * *
TO TEMPT A HIGHLAND DUKE
Copyright © 2019 by Bronwen Evans
* * *
DUKE IN SEARCH OF A DUCHESS
Copyright © 2019 by Jennifer Ashley
* * *
DEAR DUKE
Copyright © 2019 by Anna Harrington
* * *
MUST LOVE DUKE
Copyright © 2019 by Heather Snow
* * *
THE MISTLETOE DUKE
Copyright © 2019 by Sabrina York
* * *
DUELING WITH THE DUKE
Copyright © 2019 by Eileen Dreyer
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Cover Design: VMC Art & Design
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including, but not limited to, xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Contents
A Duke For All Seasons!
Alyssa Alexander
DUKE IN WINTER
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
About the Author
Elizabeth Essex
THE DIFFERENCE ONE DUKE MAKES
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
Madeline Martin
DISCOVERING THE DUKE
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
From Madeline Martin
About the Author
Grace Burrowes
THE DUKE AND THE APRIL FLOWERS
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
From Grace Burrowes
Gina Conkle
LOVE LETTERS FROM A DUKE
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About the Author
Also by Gina Conkle
Ella Quinn
HER PERFECT DUKE
Acknowledgments
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Author Notes
May McGoldrick
HOW TO DITCH A DUKE
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Author’s Note
Bronwen Evans
TO TEMPT A HIGHLAND DUKE
Preface
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
About Bron
Jennifer Ashley
DUKE IN SEARCH OF A DUCHESS
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
About the Author
Anna Harrington
DEAR DUKE
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Author’s Note
Letter to Readers
Heather Snow
MUST LOVE DUKE
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
From Heather
About the Author
Sabrina York
THE MISTLETOE DUKE
Preface
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
About the Author
Also by Sabrina York
Eileen Dreyer
DUELING WITH THE DUKE
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Ch
apter 6
About the Author
Also by Eileen Dreyer
A Duke For All Seasons!
What’s better than a dashing duke?
A dozen of them!
Or in this case, a baker’s dozen—thirteen of your favorite historical romance authors have come together to bring you more than a year’s worth of tantalizing, never-before-released novellas.
Enjoy them all at once, or savor them month by month, it’s all up to you…
* * *
DUKES BY THE DOZEN
DUKE IN WINTER
January
Alyssa Alexander
Preface
When the highwayman demanded he stand and deliver, he didn’t know she would steal his heart.
Chapter 1
January 1802
An English Country House
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“Beatrice,” came the inebriated drawl. “Don’t be a prude.”
“Of course not.” There was a great deal of difference between prude and debauched, and Bea was decidedly in the middle.
Despite not being a prude, Lady Beatrice Falk wrinkled her nose, shifting the spectacles perched there. The scent of liquor in the room was strong enough it seemed a snifter had been waved beneath her nose. Or someone had bathed in brandy.
“If you are not here to scold, then let me be.”
The empty decanter winked at Bea from the side table, just as her brother winked at her from his position on the chaise longue. He sprawled over the cushions, cravat loose, the buttons of his coat and waistcoat open. He raised his glass, gestured vaguely at the room in general. “It’s a lovely time here, Sister, even if you won’t partake.”
“Lovely,” she repeated, eyeing the tableau before her.
Dice rolled between the shadows and firelight, and in one corner cards shushed against each other. Low laughter and murmurs floated between curls of tobacco smoke, swirled around bare feminine shoulders and rouged cheeks.
Bea quickly counted heads. As she’d believed, three gentlemen were missing. Some of her quarry were drunk on the drawing room floor and were of no use that evening, but others would be making their way through frozen trees to their own country homes.
She’d best get moving.
Still, she was mistress of the house until her brother married, and with that came responsibilities. Someone had to attend to them.
“I’ve instructed the butler to ensure your remaining guests have beds this night. Stewart has spoken with the housekeeper, who will see to it.”
“Excellent.” Her brother half-stood, raising his glass in an enthusiastic salute. As he listed to one side, gold liquid sloshed over the rim, dripping down his already soiled evening glove. He frowned, studying the newest stain. “Damn.”
A triumphant burst of sound rose from one side of the room. Bea watched money change hands over dice—so much money, with no purpose but gambling and drink. And perhaps to keep the laughing women standing beside the players. A pretty lot of courtesans made garish by rouge and paint and revealing gowns.
“Well, now. I think this requires a proper celebration.” The winner staggered to his feet, puffing out his chest so the embroidery on his waistcoat rippled with the strain.
Sir Winthrop. A close friend of her brother’s, who had asked for her hand three times the year of her debut. When it was clear she would remain a spinster, he’d twice suggested they be lovers.
Unlike her brother, Bea chose her lovers with great care—and marriage was out of the question with the life she led.
With a leer at one of the girls that jiggled the whiskers on his jowls, Sir Winthrop pointed to his empty glass. “We could call for another bottle. Share it, you know.”
The girl giggled through painted red lips and opened her mouth to answer, but Sir Winthrop had turned away and raised the glass high.
“Here! Another bottle!” he called out, plainly searching for a footman—only his gaze landed on Bea. Expression turning sly, he stumbled toward her. “Oh, ho, my lady. Come to play?”
“I do not think so, Sir Winthrop.” Bea attempted to keep the revulsion from layering over her voice. “Thank you for your offer; however, I am retiring. Enjoy your evening.”
Closing the drawing room doors behind her, Bea strode across the entrance hall and abandoned the guests without a backward glance. They would still be there in the morning, in various stages of drunkenness and disarray.
The men who mattered were those who had left.
With one hand, Bea removed the spectacles she didn’t need. With the other, she began to loosen the old wig of long, curling brown hair. Being a spinster of undetermined years buried in the country, no one cared if she still wore unfashionable wigs.
But they suited her purpose.
He’d misjudged the weather.
Howling wind kicked up the snow already covering the ground, mixing it with heavy, falling flakes. Only thirty minutes before, when Wulf had requested his horse be brought around to the front of Falk Manor, the moon had still been visible between the moving clouds. Now, between the impending snowstorm and the lack of moonlight, Wulf would be fortunate to return home. Ever.
He should have requested a room at Falk Manor, stayed until morning.
Even as he thought it, Wulf grimaced. Old childhood friendships still demanded attention, even though the tradition of a yule log, punch, and country dances had given way to brandy and women once the old earl died.
Now it was dissolution of the most juvenile kind.
Still, the duty was done, and Wulfric Standover, Duke of Highrow, was far enough from the festivities that the disgust clinging to his skin was slipping away.
Hunching his shoulders against the bitter wind, Wulf guided his stallion onto the narrow track between the trees. With luck, he would be standing before his own fire before the storm worsened.
“Stand and deliver!” The shout was sharp beneath the swirling snow, echoing between the silent, naked trees.
Cursing, Wulf lifted his forearm to block the white flakes and studied the shadows dancing between the wind-tossed snow.
The highwayman was not ten feet away, sitting atop a horse in the center of the path. His greatcoat swirled in the wind as he raised his arm, the double-barreled pistol he held appearing small and light.
Though size was not indicative of deadliness. The thief held the weapon as straight and steady as any spymaster Wulf had encountered during the Reign of Terror.
“What shall I deliver?” Wulf pitched his voice above the wind and narrowed his eyes, evaluating risk. He kept a pistol in his saddlebags, but he would never be fast enough to beat his opponent.
Still, he took one hand from the reins and slid it onto his thigh. Easily, he hoped, so it would seem natural and not calculated to move closer to the saddlebags.
“You may deliver whatever valuables you have on your person.” Through the eerie, dim, snow-light and thickening flakes, Wulf could distinguish a cap pulled low and a scarf wrapped around the thief’s face that was substantial enough to fight the wind. “Beginning with the winnings in your pockets, sir.”
“Now, how is it you know about the blunt in my pockets?” Wulf leaned casually on the pommel. Considered his adversary.
“A rich nabob like you, coming from a house party? Of course you have blunt.” The man’s jacket was big enough he might swim in it. A local lad, perhaps, fallen on difficult times.
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