Courtney Milan

The Duchess War

Megan BV

“Look at yourself sometime the way you are now, all fire and anger, ready to do battle with me. If you’d ever once looked at yourself that way, you wouldn’t question whether I’d want a flirtation with you. You’d know I would.”

But the Duke of Clermont was smiling and cheerful, and he’d thrown it out there as if it were merely one more fact to be recounted. The weather is lovely. The streets are paved with cobblestone. Your tits are magnificent.

Robert Blaisdell, the ninth Duke of Clermont, was not hiding. True, he’d retreated to the upstairs library of the old Guildhall, far enough from the crowd below that the noise of the ensemble had faded to a distant rumble. True, nobody else was about. Also true: He stood behind thick curtains of blue-gray velvet, which shielded him from view. And he’d had to move the heavy davenport of brown-buttoned leather to get there.

All you have to do is believe, he’d told her from the time she was five. We don’t need wealth. We don’t need riches. We Lanes just believe harder than everyone else, and good things come to us. 

And so she’d believed. She’d believed him so hard that there had been nothing to her but hollow belief when all his schemes had broken apart. 

“If you believe in the impossible,” Lydia said, jerking her back to the present, “it might come true.” 

“If you believe in the impossible,” Minnie said tartly, “you let go of what you have.”

I don’t read a lot of historical romance but dang this book has me swooning!

She didn’t. Her head remained stubbornly bowed before him. He wanted to grab her and shake her. He wanted to tilt her chin up and force her to gaze in his eyes. He wanted— He wanted a great many things after that, none of which he was going to get from her by force. “I’m not pretending to flirt with you,” he said instead. “There’s no pretense in it. I want you. God, I want you.”

I love Minnie. (And also I want her to be happy so bad)

“Lucky you,” she said bitterly. “Lucky you that you can plan and think and plot without pretense. That you can want openly, that you don’t have to stuff it all inside yourself to molder. Lucky you that you can lift your eyes to the sky without singeing your wings. Lucky you that you can consider the future without terror.”

“Of course I’m overmatched.” He was lightly stroking her cheek. “The male of the human species has a fundamental flaw. At the moment when we most want to say something clever and impressive, all the blood rushes from our brains.”

 “Physiological fact,” His Grace said. “Arousal makes me stupid. It makes me say idiotic things like ‘I like your tits’ and, ‘Help, we’ve had a paste emergency over here.’ It makes me want to stay around you even though I know I’m overmatched, even though I’m sure you’re going to win.” His voice lowered. “You see, I want to watch you do it.”

He smiled. “I know. I know precisely who you wore them for.”

“You wore them because you knew that color would soften the angles of your gown. That touch at the neckline makes your eyes look like storm clouds. It’s a lovely effect, Minnie. I know who you wore them for.”

“You wore them for you,” he said. “Good for you.” 

She let out a breath. “You’re a very dangerous man.”

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