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    A Duke to Remember: An Avon FanLit Novella
    A Duke to Remember: An Avon FanLit Novella
    A Duke to Remember: An Avon FanLit Novella
    Ebook97 pages1 hour

    A Duke to Remember: An Avon FanLit Novella

    By Eve Marie Perry, Anne-Marie Rivers, Liana De la Rosa and

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    About this ebook

    A Duke’s return sparks a most unwelcome temptation in this Regency romance novella featuring all the 2015 Avon FanLit-winning chapters!

    When Maxwell Trent, Duke of Highclyff, arrives at the ball of the season, Lady Felicity Stratford can scarcely believe her eyes—or control her beating heart. Ten years ago, Max left Felicity in the wake of a scandalous duel and sailed off to the West Indies. Having only just recovered her reputation and about to embark on a long-awaited engagement, the duke is the last man Felicity wants to see back in London, even if he is the only man she’s ever loved.

    Between a forbidden balloon ride, a runaway monkey, and a life-changing ball, Max and Felicity discover the truth of what happened all those years ago. And they must decide if true love really can last forever.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Integrated Media
    Release dateNov 24, 2015
    ISBN9780062458957
    A Duke to Remember: An Avon FanLit Novella

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      Book preview

      A Duke to Remember - Eve Marie Perry

      Chapter One

      By Anne-­Marie Rivers

      "Highcliff is back."

      The whispered words sent a fateful thrill down the length of Lady Felicity Stratford’s spine. Her smile froze in place, though the rest of her body heated. She fluttered her fan, hoping she wasn’t turning the same blush shade as her gown, and kept it over her face as she turned toward the whisperer.

      Do you think he knows? Felicity asked the first question that popped into her head, keeping her own tone hushed.

      Her best friend, Lady Elizabeth Monroe—­Birdie—­shook her head vehemently. She’d rushed over with the news, and her blonde curls bounced with the force of the denial.

      How could he? You and Wakefield haven’t yet announced your engagement and I haven’t told a soul.

      Birdie’s fan worked overtime. Her blue eyes were watchful over the edge of its delicate lace, gauging the mood of the crowded room, considering how everyone else was reacting to the news that Maxwell Trent, the Duke of Highclyff, had returned.

      Felicity could feel the excitement in the air as the gossip wound its way through the attendees, yet she couldn’t bear to look back at the ballroom. Of course he knew. If there was one thing Maxwell Trent excelled at, it was a dramatic sense of timing. It was just like him to return now, when she’d finally gotten over him. At last.

      And it was just like him that the mere mention of his name could stir up all the old feelings once again. She reached up to smooth her hair, as though he might be watching this instant. She’d always tried to look her best whenever Maxwell might be around, and even now the old habit stuck.

      It had been ten years since she’d seen him. An entire decade since she’d fallen in love with the handsome boy next door in the desperate, passionate way only sixteen-­year-­old girls can. Ten long years since it had all gone so horribly wrong.

      Society remembered, even if she tried to forget.

      He must know, she whispered back. She’d followed the news of him despite herself, even after all these years, but there hadn’t been so much as a hint he might return to London. Why else would he come back?

      Birdie rolled her eyes. It could be a hundred reasons. He’s a duke now. Any number of things could bring him to town. She stepped closer and laid a hand on Felicity’s arm. I don’t want you to raise your hopes again, she said, her voice even softer. We all know what happened the last time.

      Felicity snapped her fan closed. Yes, well. As you said, he’s a duke now. Her words hovered near an angry hiss. Reminders about last time were unwelcome, even after a decade.

      That doesn’t mean things have changed.

      He’s back. Felicity waved the pointed end of her fan in a loose gesture around the room, but managed to keep her voice down. Barely. After ten years! Is that not a dramatic change enough?

      Birdie stood back and crossed her arms. I truly don’t know. Is it?

      I won’t know until I see him. Did your sources say when he’ll make an appearance in society? She needed time to prepare. To steel herself against acting like the foolish, idiotic girl she’d once been. To act every inch the elegant, dignified woman she’d since become.

      Felicity drew in a shaky breath. She’d need at least a week. Ten years hadn’t been nearly long enough to regain her poise where Maxwell Trent was concerned.

      Birdie shot her a puzzled look. Felicity, he’s here. Tonight.

      This time, it was more than Felicity’s smile that froze.

      Maxwell Trent, the Duke of Highclyff, descended the stairs with a sense of duty. It was how he did most things these days.

      Tedious, irritating duty dogged every step he’d taken in the two years since his brother had been thrown from that damned horse. He’d become a duke the moment John slammed into the ground, yet he still wasn’t used to the weight of responsibility. It sat uncomfortably upon his shoulders, like an ill-­fitting coat.

      He barely heard the butler announce his name as he strode into the ballroom, though its effect was noticeable on the assembled crowd. There was a gasp, and a collective bating of breath.

      Honestly. It had only been the one duel, and it was a good decade behind him at this point. The scar made Wakefield quite dashing. It probably set the young ladies of the ton swooning.

      He’d done him a favor, really.

      He scanned the crowd, all elegant plumage and turbans and starched cravats. His look of boredom was not at all practiced—­he wished to speak to no one. He’d settle for champagne or Grace, whichever he found first.

      Instead he saw her. Lady Felicity Stratford. Deep chestnut hair, shot through with strands of gold. Her slender, elegant figure clad in a pale, pinkish sort of gown.

      Wide emerald eyes, trained upon him with a look of horror.

      Exactly the same look she’d worn the last time he’d seen her, forty paces away across a field at dawn, hovering over the man he’d just shot. He was suddenly pulled back ten years. When he’d been carefree and wild, and the world had seemed one grand adventure he couldn’t wait to experience. Far too young to settle down, even with someone he’d loved. Even with Felicity. Duty and responsibility had been entirely John’s domain then.

      In an echo of the man he used to be, he crossed the overheated ballroom toward her before he could think better of it. It wasn’t until Maxwell stood in front of her and stared directly into those wide, shocked eyes that he realized he should at least have thought of something to say.

      The musicians struck up the first smooth tones of a waltz.

      He held out his hand to the woman he’d left behind and said nothing at all.

      Felicity took it, her hand slender and soft in his.

      He let out a breath he hadn’t known was held and led her among the dancers without a word. His heart thumped faster beneath his evening coat. It took him a moment to realize the buzzing in his ears was the sound of society taking notice of them.

      The next breath he exhaled was a sigh of relief. It was comforting to be out of the ton’s good graces. He was well accustomed to this.

      He smiled down at Felicity as he took her into his arms and began to waltz.

      She scowled in return.

      For a moment, it was as it had always been. She was tall and had the disconcerting ability to nearly look him square in the eye. It had annoyed him to no end when they were younger. She’d always capitalized upon it, delivering lecture upon lecture about reforming his behavior while her green eyes fixed steadily on his. It had been wonderful

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