The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)

by Julia Quinn

Simon Arthur Henry Fitzranulph Basset—the baby who possessed more names than any baby could possibly need—was the heir to one of England’s oldest and richest dukedoms.

Men, she thought with disgust, were interested only in those women who terrified them.

There were rules among friends, commandments, really, and the most important one was Thou Shalt Not Lust After Thy Friend’s Sister.

The Duke of Hastings. Daphne decided then and there that she’d be a fool if she didn’t fall in love with him.

As she spoke, she turned her face toward his, and in that instant, with the wind catching her hair and painting her cheeks pink, she looked so enchantingly lovely that Simon nearly forgot to breathe. Her lush mouth was caught somewhere between a laugh and a smile, and the sun glinted almost red on her hair. Here on the water, away from stuffy ballrooms, with the fresh air swirling about them, she looked natural and beautiful and just being in her presence made Simon want to grin like an idiot.

Instead, she was wondering why she had the most bizarre urge to throw her arms around the duke and never let go.

“Any man, you’ll soon learn, has an insurmountable need to blame someone else when he is made to look a fool.”

When his lips finally covered hers, he was not gentle. He was not cruel, but the pulse of his blood was too ragged, too urgent, and his kiss was that of a starving lover, not that of a gentle suitor.

Your marital duty—the, er, consummation, that is—is how you have a baby.” Daphne sank against the wall. “So you did this eight times?” she whispered. “No!”

And in that moment, as he slowly closed the distance between them, he became her entire world.

To say that men can be bullheaded would be insulting to the bull. Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, 2 June 1813

“And if you say that’s because you lot barged into her home like a herd of mentally deficient sheep, I’m disowning all three of you.”