Rhys Merrick, Duke of Roydan, is determined to
be the antithesis of his depraved father, repressing his desires so severely he
is dubbed "the Monk" by Society.
But when Olivia Weston turns up demanding payment for gowns ordered by his
former mistress, Rhys is totally flummoxed and inexplicably smitten. He pays
her just to remove her from his house, and mind. But logic be damned; he
must have this fiercely independent woman.
be the antithesis of his depraved father, repressing his desires so severely he
is dubbed "the Monk" by Society.
But when Olivia Weston turns up demanding payment for gowns ordered by his
former mistress, Rhys is totally flummoxed and inexplicably smitten. He pays
her just to remove her from his house, and mind. But logic be damned; he
must have this fiercely independent woman.
Olivia's greatest fear is becoming a kept
woman. She has escaped the role of mistress once and vows never to be
owned by any man. Rather than make money in the boudoir, she chooses to
clothe the women who do. But when a fire nearly kills her friend and
business partner, Olivia's world goes up in smoke and she is forced to
barter with the lofty duke.
woman. She has escaped the role of mistress once and vows never to be
owned by any man. Rather than make money in the boudoir, she chooses to
clothe the women who do. But when a fire nearly kills her friend and
business partner, Olivia's world goes up in smoke and she is forced to
barter with the lofty duke.
As their lives weave together, Olivia unravels the
man underneath the Monk, while Rhys desires to expose the lady hiding behind
the dressmaker. Will his raw passion fan a long-buried ember of hope within
her? Can this mismatched pair be the perfect fit?
man underneath the Monk, while Rhys desires to expose the lady hiding behind
the dressmaker. Will his raw passion fan a long-buried ember of hope within
her? Can this mismatched pair be the perfect fit?
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Excerpt:
“Could you move, please?”
Was
it her imagination, or was his voice higher than usual? Then what he actually
said registered.
it her imagination, or was his voice higher than usual? Then what he actually
said registered.
“Move?”
“Yes.
Could you move across the room? I find to judge a garment, or anything
properly, one must see it in motion.” Her face must have been reflecting the
horror she felt, for he hastened on, “You would not expect me to buy a horse
simply by looking at its lines would you, Mrs. Weston? I would wish to see it
run as well. I’m sure you understand.”
Could you move across the room? I find to judge a garment, or anything
properly, one must see it in motion.” Her face must have been reflecting the
horror she felt, for he hastened on, “You would not expect me to buy a horse
simply by looking at its lines would you, Mrs. Weston? I would wish to see it
run as well. I’m sure you understand.”
Blast
him and his bloody horses. She strode forward, happy to vent some of her anger
in movement; however, she realized a split second too late there was nowhere to
move. The receiving room was not large and was mostly taken up with the cutting
table. The only area with any appreciable room was at the far end of the shop
where the huge paneled mirrors stood. He was standing directly in the path that
would be her best direction. Consequently, she found herself almost flush up
against him.
him and his bloody horses. She strode forward, happy to vent some of her anger
in movement; however, she realized a split second too late there was nowhere to
move. The receiving room was not large and was mostly taken up with the cutting
table. The only area with any appreciable room was at the far end of the shop
where the huge paneled mirrors stood. He was standing directly in the path that
would be her best direction. Consequently, she found herself almost flush up
against him.
She
knew he was tall. Any fool could see the man was at least two or more inches
over six feet, but from this vantage point—directly beneath him—he was so very
tall. She could smell the starch of his shirt mixed with a faint whiff of smoke
and possibly brandy? She slid her gaze over the shirt and waistcoat to his
cravat—a conservatively tied Oriental—to the firm, slightly cleft chin, moving
on to the lips, very swiftly past those, and finally resting on his eyes. Pure
molten gold. Yes, exactly like those of the Burmese tiger she had seen at a
menagerie in Paris. His bearing was just as predatory.
knew he was tall. Any fool could see the man was at least two or more inches
over six feet, but from this vantage point—directly beneath him—he was so very
tall. She could smell the starch of his shirt mixed with a faint whiff of smoke
and possibly brandy? She slid her gaze over the shirt and waistcoat to his
cravat—a conservatively tied Oriental—to the firm, slightly cleft chin, moving
on to the lips, very swiftly past those, and finally resting on his eyes. Pure
molten gold. Yes, exactly like those of the Burmese tiger she had seen at a
menagerie in Paris. His bearing was just as predatory.
“It
would appear, sir, in order for me to move, as you require, you will have to
bestir yourself as well.”
would appear, sir, in order for me to move, as you require, you will have to
bestir yourself as well.”
She
thought she saw one side of his mouth shift ever so slightly upward into what
might have been the merest twitch of a smile. She could not be one hundred
percent sure because, to do so, she would have to look at his lips. The duke
shifted his weight and made a small bow. Her shoulder brushed the superfine of
his midnight blue jacket as she hurriedly squeezed past him.
thought she saw one side of his mouth shift ever so slightly upward into what
might have been the merest twitch of a smile. She could not be one hundred
percent sure because, to do so, she would have to look at his lips. The duke
shifted his weight and made a small bow. Her shoulder brushed the superfine of
his midnight blue jacket as she hurriedly squeezed past him.
She
strode almost to the mirrors before wheeling around and giving him what she
hoped was an accusatory look.
strode almost to the mirrors before wheeling around and giving him what she
hoped was an accusatory look.
“Well,
Your Grace. I hope you are satisfied”
Your Grace. I hope you are satisfied”
“Satisfied,
Mrs. Weston?” He raised that infernal eyebrow. “Oh no, madam, I am very far
from satisfied. However, I am hopeful I will be, in the not so distant future.”
Again his gaze raked over her. “Yes, I do live in hope.”
Mrs. Weston?” He raised that infernal eyebrow. “Oh no, madam, I am very far
from satisfied. However, I am hopeful I will be, in the not so distant future.”
Again his gaze raked over her. “Yes, I do live in hope.”
~ REVIEW ~
5 STARS
I freaking loved and enjoyed this book. H/h were very interesting characters with a past (well, aren't they all). It was kind of an emotional ride with those two. Trying to overcome both of their past with the support of each other. I loved the mix emotions with its sense of humor, the hot parts at the same time it's sweet, sadness, and loneliness.
Olivia and Rhys are perfect together although their relationship/romance was somewhere between slow and alright. The tension kept on building but it turned out for the best. I felt that their relationship was real.
I looked forward to reading another book of this author. May be because of this, I'll probably be reading HR books for the mean time.
The ending well kind of surprised because I read it one sitting. Like other readers, I too want to know what they are having.
Olivia and Rhys are perfect together although their relationship/romance was somewhere between slow and alright. The tension kept on building but it turned out for the best. I felt that their relationship was real.
I looked forward to reading another book of this author. May be because of this, I'll probably be reading HR books for the mean time.
The ending well kind of surprised because I read it one sitting. Like other readers, I too want to know what they are having.
Author Bio:
As a girl Jess escaped the world of rigorous ballet class and hideous math
homework into the haven of toe wriggling romance novels. She never imagined in her dyslexic brain she would ever come to write one, but one small scene grew into 359 pages, and contest wins, and multiple contract offers. Dreams sometimes do come true, just like the happy ending in the stories she loves.
homework into the haven of toe wriggling romance novels. She never imagined in her dyslexic brain she would ever come to write one, but one small scene grew into 359 pages, and contest wins, and multiple contract offers. Dreams sometimes do come true, just like the happy ending in the stories she loves.
Jess lives in New York City with her husband and son and disappears to the Catskill Mountains whenever she can. She is a sometime actress, award winning batik artist, and accomplished seamstress. Along with her sewing machine, she loves power tools and, what’s more, she knows how to use them.
Jess
is currently working on revamping her Manhattan kitchen as well as writing two
other stories, (working titles), Heart of Glass, and Mad
for the Marquess. Please check them out in BOOKS.
Jess Russell is a member of RWA, as well as the Beau Monde and the NY chapters of RWA. THE DRESSMAKER’S DUKE came in first in the Fool for Love Contest, Golden Apple Awards' Secret Craving Contest, the Indiana Golden Opportunity Contest and the Golden Rose Contest (also winning the best of the best). And finaled in the Great Beginnings, Emerald City Opener, and the Lone Star Contests.
is currently working on revamping her Manhattan kitchen as well as writing two
other stories, (working titles), Heart of Glass, and Mad
for the Marquess. Please check them out in BOOKS.
Jess Russell is a member of RWA, as well as the Beau Monde and the NY chapters of RWA. THE DRESSMAKER’S DUKE came in first in the Fool for Love Contest, Golden Apple Awards' Secret Craving Contest, the Indiana Golden Opportunity Contest and the Golden Rose Contest (also winning the best of the best). And finaled in the Great Beginnings, Emerald City Opener, and the Lone Star Contests.
Author Links
