Release Date: 2/25/20
Blog Tour Dates: 2/25/20 – 2/29/20
Author: Darcy Burke
Series: Spitfire Society, book 2
Available Format: ebook, mass market print
ISBN: 978-1-944576-63-9
ASIN: B07WPWL2S1
Retailer Links:
Amazon: https://smarturl.it/spf2amzbt
Apple Books: https://smarturl.it/spf2appbt
Nook: https://smarturl.it/spf2nookbt
Kobo: https://smarturl.it/spf2kobobt
➕ Goodreads: https://smarturl.it/spf2grfb
Giveaway:
Release
day giveaways happening in Darcy’s Duchesses Facebook group on February 25th - https://www.facebook.com/groups/DarcysDuchesses/
Book Summary - full:
From the USA Today bestselling author of The Untouchables series comes your next Regency obsession: The Spitfire Society... Meet the smart, independent women who’ve decided they don’t need Society’s rules, their families’ expectations, or, most importantly, a husband. But just because they don’t need a man doesn’t mean they might not want one.
Notorious rake Marcus Raleigh, Marquess of Ripley, is gracing the gossip pages for a new reason: the rumors he may have murdered his swindling cousin. His quest for answers regarding his cousin’s death leads him to an incomparable self-declared spinster, and he is—for the first time—beguiled beyond reason. Neither is what the other wants, and yet their intense mutual infatuation is inescapable.
After abandoning her philandering betrothed at the altar, Phoebe Lennox fled from London only to return an heiress who refuses to follow the ton’s rules. She won’t risk a relationship of any kind—until she meets the scandalous Marquess of Ripley. Swept into his seductive embrace, her resolve falters in the face of a pleasure she never anticipated. But when the truth about Marcus and the murder come to light, Phoebe could lose everything she holds dear, including a love for all time.
Excerpt
Following his angel of mercy, he sat down and
removed his hat. He tipped his head back, both to give her better access and so
he could study her.
She wore a pert peacock-blue-colored riding hat
set atop her dark curls at a jaunty angle. Delicate sable brows crowned a
magnificent pair of jade-green eyes. They gleamed with intelligence and
concern. Her rose-pink lips were slightly pursed as she tended to him.
“His aim was quite good,” she murmured, cleaning
his temple.
He winced when she pressed on the wound itself.
“You saw what happened?”
“Everyone in Hyde Park saw what happened.” Her wry
tone sparked with wit, igniting his curiosity about her.
“I can’t believe that’s true.” But then he hadn’t
paid close attention to the size of the crowd.
“Well, perhaps not everyone. It’s a rather large
park.” She lifted her hand briefly before applying pressure once more. “This
doesn’t seem to want to stop bleeding.”
“It will take a minute—or ten,” he said, studying
her more closely. The tip of her nose turned up just slightly, and he suspected
she had dimples when she smiled. “Wounds to the head are like that.”
“You have experience with head wounds?” she asked.
“Once or twice,” he answered absentmindedly as he
took in the gentle sweep of her jaw and the graceful line of her neck, nearly
hidden from his gaze by her smart riding costume. “You’re very beautiful. Why
haven’t we met?”
Her laughter sparkled around him like a firework
at Vauxhall. And yes, she had dimples. The right one was slightly deeper than
the left. “I daresay we do not keep the same company.”
“Pity, but I fear you are correct. You are
obviously a Society…matron?” With her smooth skin and plump lips, she looked
young, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t wed. Since she was without a companion
or a chaperone, she must be married. Either way, it was odd for her to be here
alone.
Her laughter was more subdued this time. “I am not
a matron. I am a spinster.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “You sound quite
proud of yourself.”
“It’s preferable to being a wife.” She shuddered.
How rare to meet a woman who shared his opinion of
marriage. “Is that why you’re a spinster? You seem awfully young for that
designation.”
“It is self-declared, I assure you. I have no
quarrel with being called such. Furthermore, I’m not young at all.”
“Surely you can’t be more than twenty-one.”
“Surely I can. I am, in fact, twenty-five.”
Marcus gasped in mock horror. “You’re positively
ancient. Whereas at thirty-one, I am at the height of my virility. It’s too bad
you weren’t born a man.”
“A sentiment I have reflected upon many times.”
Her wry tone and humor-filled gaze stirred a warmth inside him. The word rare rose in his mind again.
“So why not behave like one? Is that why you’re
here alone?”
“I’m not alone. My groom is waiting nearby.”
“Well, that’s a shame, because I was going to
offer to see you home.” He gave her a lazy smile. “I still could.” His gaze
connected with hers, and heat flickered between them. Attraction came easily to
Marcus—perhaps too easily—but once in a while, there was something…more.
She quickly looked away, leading Marcus to
question what he thought he’d seen. “That won’t be necessary.”
When she started to remove her hand, he reached up
and gently clasped her wrist. “Why did you stop to help me?”
Her gaze found his once more, and color tinted her
cheeks. She was more than beautiful. She was charm and grace, and there was
something else lurking beneath the surface of her spinsterliness—passion.
“Because you needed someone to, didn’t you?”
He would argue that he didn’t need anyone; however, in this case, her assistance was most
welcome. “Apparently, and for that, I am grateful. I wish to repay your
kindness.”
She pulled the cloth from his head and studied the
wound a moment. “I believe the bleeding has stopped. You will need to clean
this up when you get home.”
“If I saw you home, you could invite me in and
clean it up for me.”
She folded the handkerchief so that the
blood-soaked part was on the interior. “There is the Lord Ripley I expected.”
He exhaled and stood from the bench. “Alas, my
reputation always precedes me.”
“Perhaps if you ceased your roguish behavior, your
reputation would change.”
“Oh, I don’t wish to change it.” He grinned. “Like
you, I am quite content with my designation. As a libertine, that is.” He
reached for the cloth she held. “Let me take that.” His fingers grazed hers,
and, despite their gloves, desire thrummed through him.
She relinquished the handkerchief more quickly
than he would have liked. “Why?”
“I’ll have it cleaned and then return it to you.
However, I don’t know your direction or even your name. Pray release me from
the darkness of ignorance.”
After staring at him a moment, she rolled her
eyes. “You really have perfected this, haven’t you? That does not require an
answer. Nor does your request. Keep the handkerchief. You don’t need to return
it.”
He blinked at her in slight surprise. He’d been
rebuffed before, but seldom and not in some time. “You aren’t going to tell me
your name? That’s rather cruel and again begs the question why you stopped to
help me.”
“As I said, you seemed to need it, and I am, if
nothing else, a considerate person.”
“Then have a care for me, dear lady, and deliver
me from misery. Will you give me your name if I promise not to call?”
One of her sable brows tilted dubiously. “Will you
actually keep that promise?”
No, and that she’d already discerned that about
him was…intriguing. “I’m going to find out who you are whether you tell me or
not. I guarantee I will be on your doorstep by tomorrow.”
Her lips spread into a wide, vivacious smile, and
Marcus’s breath fixed in his lungs. “You’re welcome to try. I bid you good day,
my lord.” She inclined her head, then turned to go.
“Until tomorrow, mystery lady.” Marcus couldn’t
recall the last time he’d been so…aroused.
THE
DUKE OF SEDUCTION, the first book that Phoebe from A DUKE IS NEVER ENOUGH
appears in, is on sale for a limited time for 99¢!
Amazon:
https://smarturl.it/dosedamzfb
Author
Bio:
Darcy Burke is the USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy,
emotional historical and contemporary romance. Darcy wrote her first book at
age 11, a happily ever after about a swan addicted to magic and the female swan
who loved him, with exceedingly poor illustrations. Join her Reader Group at https://www.darcyburke.com/join-my-reader-group/. A native Oregonian, Darcy lives on the
edge of wine country with her guitar-strumming husband, their two hilarious
kids who seem to have inherited the writing gene, two Bengal cats and a third
cat named after a fruit.
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/DarcyBurkeFans/
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Twitter: https://twitter.com/darcyburke
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