Duke of Pryde Audiobook (Pre-order for Mar 31)

A marriage of convenience forces a powerful duke to choose between his ferocious pride and love that melts his icy heart.

Reputation is everything in the ton. And no one's is more pristine than Constantine Buccleigh, Duke of Pryde's. But when a blackmailer threatens to expose his devastating secret and have him lose everything, he’s forced to marry Miss Modesty Fairchild, a woman far below his station.

A budding archeologist, Modesty would rather dig in the dirt than host a gala. But a deathbed promise has left her the guardian of an orphaned baby. She’ll do anything to protect her little ward…even marry the heartless duke who made the most offensive proposal in the history of womenkind.

Lonely in Pryde’s elegant Mayfair home, she despises the cold, unyielding duke who expects her to become his perfect duchess. She loathes his arrogance. He resents her defiance. But as dance lessons and etiquette tutorials force them together, Modesty refuses to shrink beneath his iron control. And with every act of rebellion, she shatters his carefully crafted armor, revealing the lonely, broken man beneath.

Glimpsing the tender heart beneath her husband’s haughty exterior, Modesty dreams of a loving future.

But a villain in the shadows plots Pryde’s downfall. And as the Seven Dukes of Sin hunt for clues, the blackmailer raises the stakes.

Faced with a dreadful choice, will Constantine sacrifice his pride and his title for the wife and child he has come to treasure?

Other volumes of the 'Seven Dukes of Sin' series:

1 - Duke of Rath
2 - Duke of Luhst
3 - Duke of Pryde

More books to follow...

September 1814

“Where the hell is he?” Constantine Buccleigh, the Duke of Pryde, paced down the aisle of All Saints Church. This could be the day his secret finally ruined his life.

The scents of dust and incense hung in the air around him. And weak sunlight filtered through the Gothic windows, casting his shadow across the stone floor. The locals of Shepherdsbrook, a village on the outskirts of London, had filed out after the Sunday sermon not a quarter of an hour ago.

Constantine’s blasphemy bounced off the walls of the empty church like a bullet. His riding boots clicked against the flagstones, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he paced too fast for a duke who prided himself on his composure.

A crash behind Constantine had him spinning around, hand instinctively darting to the letter in the inner pocket of his coat.

But it was only Octavius.

At the back of the vacant pews, the Duke of Eccess flashed him a guilty look as he caught a bookshelf from which prayer books rained down.

Constantine raised a single eyebrow, forcing his shoulders back to their usual position. “Octavius, if you could save your talent of demolition for another day…”

Eccess straightened the shelf, his biceps bulging even through the layers of his tailored coat. While Constantine bent to pick up the books and return them to the shelf, Octavius gave the cross above the altar an exaggerated bow. “Pardon me, Lord. Just a tiny excess of wine. I’m sure you understand, with the whole water-to-wine business.”

He retrieved a silver flask with the symbol of a boar engraved on it from his pocket. He raised it first to Constantine, then to the cross, and drank, his honey-blond hair falling over his forehead.

When all of the books were back in their places, Constantine eyed the flask. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind a drop of that myself.”

“Certainly. You look like a bowstring about to snap.” Octavius extended the flask towards him. “As always, my best. Cognac Fine Champagne.”

Constantine’s hand twitched towards it. But then he let it fall back to his side. “Not today. I need every bit of control I possess.”

Octavius’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “Suit yourself. You could use a bit of loosening up, if you ask me.”

“I do not.”

Finally, footsteps sounded upon the floor like a cannonade. Constantine ran one of his sweat-dampened hands across his hair and corrected his cravat.

He ushered Eccess towards the sound until he could finally see a movement in the darkness below the chancel arch. The footsteps stopped.

A baby cooed.

Constantine stopped breathing and went completely still.
A baby?

Two female figures in simple brown and gray muslin dresses and spencers walked out of the shadows, soft heels clicking against the worn flagstones. The one holding the baby was a fair bit taller than the other.

He and Octavius exchanged puzzled looks. Perhaps these were just two parishioners who had stayed after the sermon. These two couldn’t have anything to do with the letter.

As it had done so many times, his mind returned to the letter he had received three days ago.


London, 20 September, 1814,

To His Grace, the Duke of Pryde,

Your Grace,

I trust my letter finds you in good health.

An important matter concerning your circumstances has been revealed to me. It would be most prudent for you to attend the sermon at All Saints Church of Shepherdsbrook this Sunday.

Your Grace’s most humble and obedient servant,
A friend

Admittedly, a friend could be male or female. He supposed he just didn’t think blackmail would be within a woman’s purview...