WakingUpWiththeDuke - (EPUB全文下载)

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Waking Up With the Duke
Lorraine Heath 

Dedication 
For Franny
When shared with you . . .
Laughter is deeper
Secrets more hushed
Good news more joyous
Sorrows less painful
Moments always, always richer
And New York is way more fun. Totally.
Thank you for including me in your life and offering me the gift of your friendship . . .
And for always knowing the best wines.

Contents 
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
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
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Author's Note
About the Author
Romances by Lorraine Heath
Copyright
About the Publisher

Chapter 1 
Herndon Hall, Leicestershire
November, 1860 
“I’ll consider your debt paid in full if you get my wife with child.”
Ransom Seymour, the ninth Duke of Ainsley, struggled to concentrate as he sat sprawled in a comfortable armchair in the well-appointed library. He’d been downing excellent whiskey ever since his arrival at the Marquess of Walfort’s country estate for his once legendary hunt. After three hours, they were both well into their cups, so surely he’d misunderstood.
“Does your silence indicate your acceptance of the terms?” Walfort asked.
Ainsley scrutinized his cousin and longtime friend, sitting in that damned wheelchair, where he himself had placed the marquess three years earlier. Walfort had aged considerably during that time, his brown hair having gone white at the temples, his brown eyes somber enough to chase off any gaiety in the room. Ainsley released a dark chuckle. “I’ve had far too much to drink. You would not countenance what I thought you uttered.”
“Jayne wants a child. I can’t give it to her. You owe me this.”
Ainsley pushed himself out of the chair. He’d meant to do so with force. Instead, he staggered and almost lost his balance as he crossed over to the fireplace. He pressed his forearm against the stone mantel to steady himself while he studied the madly dancing flames. Within them he could almost see the night he and Walfort had been barreling wildly through the London streets, the curricle traveling at a dangerous breakneck speed—
He’d wondered but never dared ask the full extent of Walfort’s injuries. They’d seen each other seldom in the intervening years, that tragic night a guilty barrie ............

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