Anthony Beck, Viscount Redgrave, has always done what was expected of his title and station. Ever the dutiful son, he abides by his mother’s requests even when they tend to be ridiculous. There is no other reason, after all, that he would be carrying around a piece of dead mistletoe that should rejuvenate itself once he is on the path of true love. Luckily, he happens upon the one lady he’s always wanted to court. Unfortunately, she’s in love with her guardian…
Miss Holly Prescott is not in love with her guardian. It is her duty, however, to make certain that nefarious young ladies with hopes of becoming his duchess, don’t trap him into a loveless marriage. While attending the Christmas Eve weddings at Castle Keyvnor, Holly learns that the nearby Romani could be of help in that regard. However, she did not expect to stumble upon the handsome and oh-so-honorable Lord Redgrave in the process.
Genre: FICTION / Romance / Regency29 ratings/review on Amazon 4.4 average / 34 ratings/reviews on Goodreads 4.3 average
Blast! The bodice was, well, so uninspiring. No matter how she drew it, scooped or squared, Holly Prescott achieved the exact same result—dull. And the sleeves—redundant. There must be something that she could come up with that was new, inventive and would set society on its ear, but all her creative talents had abandoned her this day.
Setting her pencils aside, Holly rubbed her cold hands together then blew into the palms to warm them as she glanced out the window and into the gardens below. Alarm rioted through her body. “Oh, this will never do,” A young woman, with whom she was not yet acquainted, was gazing up at Ethan, the Duke of Westbury, as if every word he spoke dripped of gold. Why were the two even in the gardens? It was December and nothing was in bloom, though Holly had no doubt that in the spring and summer the gardens at Castle Keyvnor were nothing short of glorious and an inspiration to any artist’s eye.
Was the chit actually fluttering her eyelashes at Ethan? Holly stood to get a closer look, and the sketchpad slid from her lap, thudding against the muted blue and cream rug, followed by her pencils that rolled in every direction, but she couldn’t worry about them now. Not when a miss was giggling up at Ethan. Or at least Holly assumed the miss giggled since she delicately covered her mouth with a gloved hand.
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Portuguese
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Tânia Nezio
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Rocio Lizardo
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