The Duke of Christmas Past

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Book: The Duke of Christmas Past by Kim Bowman Read Free Book Online
Authors: Kim Bowman
Tags: Paranormal, Regency, Time travel, Christmas, sweet romance, clean romance, second time around
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bringing Isabella Hodgkin, an American
(gasp!), to the Kringles' ball. So of course, I had to mention the
scandal in my book as well! Thank you so much, Ruth.
    Leah Sanders, I so appreciate you letting me make fun
of Paisley from your Christmas story Two Turtledoves . The
man simply asked for it, letting his fists fly the way he did!
    A special thank you goes to Rachel Van Dyken for
graciously writing the Prologue to my story. The witty, eagle-eyed
Mrs. Peabody's Society Paper was the perfect addition and an
ingenious way to poke fun at my characters with gossip from Lord
and Lady Kringle's Christmas Eve ball. It was greatly appreciated!
I also want to extend a huge "THANK YOU" for your graciousness in
adding your voice and charm via the wonderful Mrs. Peabody to all
of Astraea Press's Regency Christmas stories. Your kindness and
willingness to help your fellow authors never ceases to amaze
me.

About the Author
     
    Kim Bowman lives in Indiana, where she was
born and raised. For the past thirteen years, she has been married
to her best friend, Tony. She has four wonderful, awesome children.
Three she was lucky enough to inherit from her husband and one she
was given by the grace of God. They live on a small farm with two
of their four kids, five horses, and Lex the lovable pit bull.
    Although she has notebooks full of songs, poems, and
short stories she has composed, it wasn't until she started doing
technical writing for her job that she really got the bug and
decided to take her English professor's advice and write novels for
a living. Find Kim on Facebook and at her blog:
http://kimbowmanauthor.blogspot.com/

 
Also from Astraea Press!
     

     

Chapter One
     
    Tuesday, December 8, 1812
    The Fleet Street crowd thinned ahead, beside the
windowed front of the linen draper's shop, and there stood sweet
Dorcas, one of the most delectable morsels he'd ever chewed. A
stray beam of unexpected winter sunlight flashed off her golden
curls, and the sudden blaze reflected, sharp and multiplied, in the
many little diamond panes of the window beyond. Her gaze meshed
with his through the crowd, that split-second, undeniable flash of
recognition as bright as her hair in the sunshine. Her equally
brilliant smile flashed a moment later.
    An indiscreet moment later, to judge by the scowl of
her new husband beside her.
    And of course their swift, smiling recognition had
been spotted. Dear Lady Gower's hawk-like eyes, glittering beneath
an admittedly outré bonnet, glanced back and forth between them
from her perch aboard her high-flyer phaeton. When her glance
swiveled his way once more, he kissed his hand to her and gave the
twice-widowed and adorable predator his most seductive smile. The
matched greys smacked the phaeton's front wheel against the
sidewalk's edge before she returned to her own affairs.
    And of course, by then the new husband had whisked
sweet Dorcas beyond the Temple Bar. She might be a merchant's wife
now — since March, that was, and her new husband was no longer all
that new — but as a former Wentworth-Gower, she was too well-bred
to glance over her shoulder at another man while leaning on her
husband's arm, and her fading presence plunged the street again
into a dull winter's day. Ernst Anton Oldenburg, His Grace, the
Duke of Cumberland sighed, but didn't bother to hide his satisfied
smile. Dorcas, now Mrs. Robinson, looked lovelier than ever, with
her hand resting unconsciously on her almost-done belly, her
complexion positively glowing, and Mr. Robinson glowering over her
shoulder.
    Well, he'd done what he'd intended for her. His Grace
could honestly say, he'd made sweet Dorcas' dream come true.
    Leaving him free for a new adventure.
    Who sat with her mother in the coffee house across
the way.
    In the table behind the window, the Honorable Anne
Elizabeth Henrietta Kirkhoven, youngest daughter of Baron Wotton of
Boughton Malherbe, Kent, sat straight as a sword blade over her
cup. Her deliciously delicate face

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