AUTHOR NOTE
Welcome to the third story in my Daring Duchesses trilogy—I do hope you read the eBook, featuring Sophia and Dante, SOME LIKE IT SCANDALOUS, which is the introduction to the mini-series and features all of my heroines and heroes for the stories.
It has been tremendous fun writing about these three daring ladies and the three gentlemen who attempt to tame them. They fail, obviously, but fall in love with them anyway—their Daring Duchesses just wouldn’t be as adorable if they weren’t daring!
I really hope that you enjoy reading about them too.
Have fun!
About the Author
CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon®. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’
Previous novels by the same author:
In Mills & Boon® Historical Romance:
THE DUKE’S CINDERELLA BRIDE*
THE RAKE’S INDECENT PROPOSAL*
THE ROGUE’S DISGRACED LADY*
LADY ARABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE*
THE LADY GAMBLES**
THE LADY FORFEITS**
THE LADY CONFESSES **
SOME LIKE IT WICKED†
* The Notorious St Claires
** The Copeland Sisters
† Daring Duchesses
You’ve read about The Notorious St Claires in Regency times. Now you can read about the new generation in Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance:
The Scandalous St Claires: Three arrogant aristocrats—ready to be tamed!
JORDAN ST CLAIRE: DARK AND DANGEROUS
THE RELUCTANT DUKE
TAMING THE LAST ST CLAIRE
Carole Mortimer has written a further 150 novels for Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance, and in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:
AT THE DUKE’S SERVICE
CONVENIENT WIFE, PLEASURED LADY
SOME LIKE IT SCANDALOUS†
Did you know that these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Some Like
to Shock
Carole Mortimer
Peter, all my love as always.
Chapter One
May, 1817—London
‘May I offer you a ride in my carriage, Genevieve …?’
Genevieve turned sharply to look at the man standing beside her at the top of the steps leading down from St George’s Church in Hanover Square. The two of them had just attended and acted as witness at the wedding of mutual friends.
It was not the gentleman’s tone which surprised her, but the question itself, when her own carriage and maid were clearly waiting at the bottom of the steps in preparation for the drive back to her home in Cavendish Square.
There was also the fact that she was Genevieve Forster, widowed Duchess of Woollerton, and the gentleman at her side was Lord Benedict Lucas, known to his close friends and enemies alike as merely Lucifer. There was a difference in their social standing, the two of them having only been on nodding acquaintance before today, which should have dictated he refer to her as your Grace rather than by her given name …
‘Genevieve?’
She felt a quiver of awareness travel the length of her spine at the husky intensity of Lucifer’s voice, even as she realised he was looking down at her with enigmatic coal-black eyes, with one equally dark brow raised in mocking enquiry beneath the tall hat he had placed upon his head upon leaving the church.
Lucifer …
How well that name suited this particular gentleman, with his midnight-black hair curling softly over the collar of his black superfine and eyes so dark a brown they also appeared black. His cheekbones were high besides a sharp blade of nose and sculptured mouth that occasionally curved in sensual appreciation, but was more often than not thinned in haughty and unapproachable disdain above the firmness of his arrogantly angled jaw.
Aged one and thirty, Lucifer was but six years older than Genevieve, but the depth of emotions hidden behind those glittering black eyes spoke of a gentleman much older than his calendar years.
Part of the reason for that, Genevieve and all of society knew, was the tragic way in which his parents had met their deaths ten years ago. Lucifer had found the couple murdered at their country estate and their slayer had never been found or brought to justice.
Which was perhaps also the reason Genevieve had never seen Benedict Lucas wearing anything but black over his pristine white linen, all perfectly tailored, of course, to emphasise the width of his shoulders, muscled
