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THE ROGUE
Devil's Duke #1
Katharine Ashe
Releasing February 23rd, 2016
Avon Books
In
the first book in Katharine Ashe’s stunning new historical series, to capture a
duke, a lady must first seduce a rogue.
the first book in Katharine Ashe’s stunning new historical series, to capture a
duke, a lady must first seduce a rogue.
Lady
Constance Read is independent, beautiful, and in need of a husband-now. The
last man on earth she wants is the rogue who broke her heart six years ago,
never mind that his kisses are scorching hot…
Constance Read is independent, beautiful, and in need of a husband-now. The
last man on earth she wants is the rogue who broke her heart six years ago,
never mind that his kisses are scorching hot…
Evan
Saint-André Sterling is rich, scarred, and finished with women-forever. He’s
not about to lose his head over the bewitching beauty who once turned his life
upside down.
Saint-André Sterling is rich, scarred, and finished with women-forever. He’s
not about to lose his head over the bewitching beauty who once turned his life
upside down.
But
Constance needs a warrior, and Saint is the perfect man for the job. Only as a
married woman can she penetrate Scotland’s most notorious secret society and
bring a diabolical duke to justice. When Constance and Saint become allies-and
passionate lovers-he’ll risk everything to protect the only woman he has ever
loved.
Constance needs a warrior, and Saint is the perfect man for the job. Only as a
married woman can she penetrate Scotland’s most notorious secret society and
bring a diabolical duke to justice. When Constance and Saint become allies-and
passionate lovers-he’ll risk everything to protect the only woman he has ever
loved.
Prologue
The Danger
Of the dozen
men in the room, he was the only man she should not be staring at. He was not a
lord. Not an heir to a fortune. Not a scion of impressive lineage or a favorite
of the prince. He wasn’t even really a gentleman.
Yet she could
not look away.
It shouldn’t
have mattered; a hidden niche was an excellent place from which a young lady
could spy on a risqué party. Until someone else discovered it.
Unless that
someone else were the right someone else.
For four
nights now no one had noticed her peeking from a door that could barely be
called a door in the corner of the ballroom. These passages had been fashioned
in an earlier era of rebellion, and everybody had long since forgotten them.
Except her.
And now him.
A quality of
familiarity braided with danger commanded the breadth of his shoulders and the
candlelight in his eyes as he watched her. Yet she did not duck back into the
dark passage and escape. She had no fear that he would know her. Like the women
who had actually been invited to the party, her mask hid the upper half of her
face. Anyway, she knew no one in society. Her father had not yet taken her to
London, only deposited her here at Fellsbourne, where he imagined her safe in
the company of his dear friend’s family. Where she had always in fact been
safe. Teased, taunted, treated like an annoying younger sister, and very
carelessly acknowledged. But safe.
Until now.
Not removing
his eyes from her, the stranger unfolded himself from the chair with predatorial
grace. He moved like a hunter, lean and powerful and aware. Not entirely human.
Even at rest he had watched the others, disinterested in the amorous
flirtations of the other men and the women here to entertain them, yet
keen-eyed. Like an elven prince studying mortal beings, he observed.
For four
nights she had wondered, if she were one of those women would he be interested
in her? Would he seek her attention? Would he touch her as the other men
touched those women—as she longed to be touched—held—told she was
special—good—beautiful?
She was
wicked to her marrow.
Wicked to
want a stranger’s notice. Wicked to relish the thrill in her belly as he walked
straight toward her.
Under normal
circumstances her tongue was lithe enough. But normal circumstances had never
in her wildest misbehaviors included a man with eyes like his—green, clear and
shining, moonlight cast upon the waters of a forest spring. Perhaps he
was not entirely human. This wasn’t Scotland. But England had its
fair share of mystical beings too.
When he stood
within no more than two wicked feet of her, her tongue failed.
“You were
staring at me,” he said in a voice like fire-heated brandy—rich, deep.
“You were
staring at me.” The low timbre of her own words startled her.
“One of us
must have begun it.”
“Perhaps it
was spontaneously mutual. Or it was coincidence, and both of us imagined the
other began it.”
“How
mortifying for us both then.” The slightest smile appeared at the corner of his
mouth that was beautiful. Beautiful. She had never thought about men’s
mouths before. She had never even noticed them. Now she noticed, and it did hot
things to her insides.
“Or
fortunate,” she ventured. She was grinning, showing her big teeth. But she
couldn’t care. A young man was smiling at her, a young man with sun-darkened
skin and whiskers cut square and scant about his mouth, like a pirate too busy
marauding to shave for a day or two. Not very mystical, true. His
hair was the color of ancient gilt, curving about his collar and swept dashingly
back from his brow. A military saber hung along his thigh, long and encased in
dark leather. Its hilt glittered.
He was
staring at her lips, and so she stared at his. Giddy trills climbed up her
middle.
Kisses.
His lips made
her think of kisses. Want kisses. Kisses on her mouth. Kisses on her
neck like those that the loose women got from the other men. Kisses wherever he
would give them to her.
Wicked wicked
wicked.
“Dance with
me,” he said.
She darted a
glance into the ballroom. All of the women wore costumes, scanty, sheer,
slipping from shoulders beneath gentlemen’s bold fingertips. Jack was throwing
a masquerade for his friends and these women. Women she should not envy.
She should
not be here. She should be at the dower house a quarter mile distant, where Eliza
had drunk whiskey with dinner and now snored comfortably by the parlor
fireplace.
“I cannot
dance tonight,” she said with more regret than she remembered ever saying
anything.
“Cannot? Or
will not with me?” His tongue shaped words decadently, as though the syllables
were born to kiss his lips and taunt her with what she could not have.
“If I could,
I would only with you.”
He seemed to
study her face: her too-big eyes, her too-small nose, the mouth that was too
wide, brow that was too spotted, and cheeks that were too round. She knew her
flaws, and yet he seemed to like studying them.
“What is your
name?”
“I haven’t
one.” Not that she could tell a stranger with elven eyes and pirate whiskers.
He smiled,
and it was such a simple unveiling of pleasure that her heart thumped against a
couple of her ribs.
“I will call
you Beauty,” he said, then his brow creased. “But you have heard that before.”
“Then I
suppose I must call you Beast,” she replied. She liked the tingling tension in
her belly that he had deposited there with only his smile.
“For what I’m
thinking now, you should,” he said . . .
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Katharine lives in the wonderfully warm Southeast with her beloved husband, son, dog, and a garden she likes to call romantic rather than unkempt. A professor of European History, she writes fiction because she thinks modern readers deserve grand adventures and breathtaking sensuality too. For more about Katharine’s books, please visit www.KatharineAshe.com or write to her at PO Box 51702, Durham, NC 27717.
Q&A with
Katharine Ashe
Q:
Your new Devil’s Duke series kicks off with a bang in The Rogue; there’s
plenty of intrigue, action, and some cameos from Falcon Club members of your
previous novels. Yet you’re also telling a very deep love story that touches on
many issues, including second chances, abuse, and honesty. As a writer—and as a
reader!—what appeals to you about mixing “spy stuff” and adventure with the
kind of intensely emotional narrative going on in The Rogue?
A:
Truth? I want to be completely swept away. I love getting so immersed in a
story that I can’t put it down. I am totally addicted to intense, deep,
powerful romance. When I read and write, I want to experience every emotion: I
want to laugh, weep, shout, feel my heart racing, and go a little
insane-in-love right along with the hero and heroine. If they’re opponents or
allies in exciting intrigue—Saint and Constance are both in The Rogue—I get
completely caught up in the excitement. It’s romance, so I know they’ll be
together by the end. But the more intense the journey to falling in love is,
the more I adore it.
Q.
You write historical romance novels—but you’re also a professor of history! How
much does your academic work as a professor overlap with your writing?
A.
Now that I teach popular fiction -- both romance fiction and other fiction
based on medieval history -- I can pour my experience with researching, writing
and publishing novels into my teaching. And it goes the other way too; teaching
nourishes me. I learn from my students all the time. Also, oftentimes I’ll read
something to use in class and it will inspire a character or scene or even an
entire plot of a novel.
Q.
The title of the novel, The Rogue, refers to Saint, our roguish hero. But
he’s not the only one known to break the rules every now and again: Constance
is an extremely independent woman. At every turn, she refuses to let society
make her dependent on someone else, and she continually rises against every
challenge she is faced with. What inspired you to write such a strong,
forward-thinking heroine?
A.
Constance is incredibly strong and independent, but she’s also damaged and
vulnerable. In a world dominated by men who want to use or control her, she’s
come to a place where she’s simply refusing that. She wants to make her own
decisions, and she wants to be her own hero (it’s why she asks Saint to teach
her how to fight with a sword and dagger). But she wants—and needs—love too. I
think this is the struggle of modern women: to be independent and take care of
themselves, as well as others who need them, but also to allow themselves to be
loved by a good man—a man who won’t try to control them, but will love them for
the entire woman that they are.
Q.
You often speak at conferences and give interviews regarding your views on the
romance genre. We’ve seen romance get more time in the mainstream media
spotlight this year than ever before—do you think that’s an indicator of things
to come? Where do you see the genre going from here?
A.
The good press is wonderful! It’s a good sign for the future. We’ve a long way
to go, though. I think the new openness to romance fiction in the mainstream
media has as much to do with the fabulous novels authors are writing now,
featuring independent heroines with real agency, as it has to do with our
society very, very slowly shifting toward an honest recognition of the latent
misogyny and anti-feminist biases in our culture. These biases are so deeply
rooted (they’re thousands of years old!) that it’s going to take more than few
decades for real equality. When the romance genre is treated the same way that
the mystery or sci-fi or thriller genres are treated, that’ll be a good
indicator we’ve come to true equality between the sexes.
Q.
Tell us a little bit about your upcoming projects!
A.
The Earl is next! Through several books my readers have been following the
heated banter of Peregrine, the secretary of the Falcon Club, and popular
London pamphleteer Lady Justice. She has skewered him again and again in the
public press for being an idle elitist, but now she needs his help. They’re
thrown together in an unexpected (and dangerous) adventure across the Scottish
Highlands. It’s a super intense, funny and exciting love story, and I cried and
laughed and gasped and sighed and loved loved loved writing it.
After
that, the duke everybody’s calling The Devil gets his story!
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