by Lisa Lace
The Duke of New York
Lisa Lace
Contents
1. Henry
2. Melissa
3. Henry
4. Melissa
5. Henry
6. Melissa
7. Henry
8. Melissa
9. Henry
10. Melissa
11. Henry
12. Melissa
13. Henry
14. Melissa
15. Henry
16. Melissa
17. Henry
18. Melissa
19. Henry
20. Melissa
21. Henry
22. Melissa
23. Henry
24. Melissa
25. Henry
26. Melissa
27. Henry
28. Melissa
29. Henry
30. Melissa
31. Henry
32. Melissa
33. Henry
34. Melissa
Casual Sext
1. Cole
2. Sophie
3. Cole
4. Sophie
5. Cole
6. Sophie
7. Cole
8. Sophie
9. Cole
10. Sophie
11. Cole
12. Sophie
13. Cole
14. Sophie
15. Sophie
16. Cole
17. Sophie
18. Cole
19. Sophie
20. Cole
21. Sophie
22. Cole
23. Sophie
24. Cole
25. Sophie
26. Cole
27. Sophie
28. Cole
29. Sophie
30. Cole
31. Sophie
32. Cole
33. Sophie
34. Cole
35. Sophie
36. Cole
Epilogue
Ruined
1. Edward
2. Mia
3. Edward
4. Edward
5. Mia
6. Edward
7. Mia
8. Edward
9. Mia
10. Edward
11. Mia
12. Edward
13. Mia
14. Edward
15. Edward
16. Mia
17. Edward
18. Mia
19. Edward
20. Mia
21. Mia
22. Edward
23. Mia
24. Edward
25. Mia
26. Mia
27. Edward
28. Mia
29. Edward
30. Mia
Exposed
1. Maxwell
2. Laura
3. Maxwell
4. Laura
5. Laura
6. Maxwell
7. Laura
8. Maxwell
9. Maxwell
10. Laura
11. Maxwell
12. Laura
13. Maxwell
14. Laura
15. Maxwell
16. Laura
17. Maxwell
18. Laura
19. Maxwell
20. Laura
21. Maxwell
22. Laura
23. Laura
24. Maxwell
25. Laura
26. Maxwell
27. Laura
28. Maxwell
29. Laura
30. Maxwell
31. Laura
32. Maxwell
Epilogue: Laura
Unwrapping Daddy
1. Zoe
2. Tom
3. Zoe
4. Tom
5. Zoe
6. Tom
7. Zoe
8. Tom
9. Zoe
10. Tom
11. Zoe
12. Tom
13. Zoe
14. Tom
15. Zoe
16. Tom
17. Zoe
18. Tom
19. Zoe
20. Tom
21. Zoe
22. Tom
23. Zoe
24. Tom
25. Zoe
26. Tom
27. Zoe
28. Tom
29. Zoe
30. Tom
31. Zoe
32. Tom
33. Zoe
34. Tom
35. Zoe
36. Tom
37. Zoe
Epilogue
Mismatch
1. Ethan
2. Lily
3. Ethan
4. Lily
5. Ethan
6. Lily
7. Ethan
8. Lily
9. Ethan
10. Lily
11. Ethan
12. Lily
13. Ethan
14. Lily
15. Ethan
16. Lily
17. Ethan
18. Lily
19. Ethan
20. Lily
21. Ethan
22. Lily
23. Ethan
24. Lily
25. Ethan
26. Lily
27. Ethan
28. Lily
29. Ethan
30. Lily
31. Ethan
32. Lily
33. Lily
34. Ethan
Epilogue
Abduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Blaze
Prologue
1. Nate
2. Jenna
3. Nate
4. Jenna
5. Nate
6. Jenna
7. Nate
8. Jenna
9. Nate
10. Jenna
11. Nate
12. Jenna
13. Nate
14. Jenna
15. Nate
16. Jenna
17. Nate
18. Jenna
19. Nate
20. Jenna
21. Nate
22. Jenna
23. Nate
24. Jenna
25. Nate
26. Jenna
27. Nate
28. Jenna
29. Nate
30. Jenna
31. Nate
32. Jenna
Epilogue
Newsletter
Also by Lisa Lace
Henry
Alexander is waiting for Olivia to walk up the aisle. For his Cambridge wedding at St. Mary’s, right in the heart of Market Square, my older brother is dressed to the nines. He looks immaculate in a pressed navy suit, crisp white shirt, and gleaming dress shoes. His platinum cufflinks catch the light every time he preens himself. He stands at the head of the altar and beams out over the crowd; the family golden boy.
I’ve been forced into a similar starched straightjacket of a suit. The stiff collar chafes my neck. The stubbornly ironed creases hardly let me move my arms.
The venue is bursting to the rafters with upper-class strangers, all pretending to
be touched as the bride walks down the aisle. Yet like everything else in our lives, their presence is another PR move carefully organized by our father, the Duke of Cambridge. The whole thing is a farce.
I’m standing at the head of the assembly. Accompanied by Mendelsohn’s Wedding March played by a live string quartet, Olivia arrives. Onlookers gasp as she ascends upon us like one of God’s own angels.
I try not to roll my eyes. You’ve never even met her. In truth, Olivia is a nice enough woman—if a little bland for my tastes.
From where I stand beside Alexander at the front of the church, I try and catch my best friend Percy’s eyes to see if he’s as bored out his mind as I am. He’s sitting toward the back of the church, looking like he’s just walked in from an all-nighter. He’s managed to show up in a suit, but his hair is barely brushed, and his eyes are glazed. He catches my eyes and mimes snoring.
Olivia reaches Alexander at the front of the church. They promise to love each other forever. As cynical as I am, I manage a smile when my brother repeats his vows. At least I know he loves Olivia.
Finally, they exchange rings and say the fateful I do’s. Time for the party. I’m relieved to file out of the crowded church.
Outside, Duke of Cambridge Walter Southby, our father, stands at my side as Alexander and Olivia start to pose in front of the building for photos. He’s a paunchy, red-faced man with a permanent frown that turns quickly into the broadest beam as soon as a camera is pointed in his direction. He’s sweating in his waistcoat and jacket and keeps dabbing at his face with a silk handkerchief. What’s left of his strawberry blond hair has been combed to within an inch of its life. I can see the strokes of the comb’s teeth in his sweat-drenched hair.
He throws me a cautious sideways glance and lowers his voice. “I hope you’re not planning on doing anything stupid today.”
“On my best behavior.”
“That means watching your drinking and your mouth.”
“I know. We’ve had this conversation already.”
“I’m making sure you’re taking this seriously. Today is Alexander’s day. A lot of important people are here, and we all must put our best foot forward. I’ve already seen a couple of journalists floating around. It’s a big day for your brother.”
You mean, it’s a big day for you. “Understood.”
My father casts me one final suspicious glance and nods. “Stick to the speech we agreed on.”
“Of course.”
My father spots someone more important and walks away. I frown, but a smile quickly comes to my face when Percy finds me and slaps me on the shoulder with a big, goofy grin on his face. “Looks like you were having a pretty serious conversation with His Majesty.”
I make a face. “Just warning me not to bring shame to the fine family name.”
“Too late for that, isn’t it?”
We both laugh. My reputation as a party animal has always preceded me. I’ve always been a thrill seeker—whether that be drink, fast cars, or chasing women; the sort of things that any hot-blooded young man of twenty-seven would pursue. But the son of a duke should be above such idle pleasures.
Eventually, it’s time to move onto the reception, which is taking place at Longstowe Hall.
Longstowe Hall is a stately home set like a jewel within acres of immaculately sculpted gardens. The grounds feature double flower borders, yew hedges, and a remarkable rose maze. The building overlooks a lake, with a view of the lime tree avenue beyond.
The wedding reception is taking place in a huge white marquee overlooking the lake. It’s adorned with sweeping white cloth, almost like a circus big top, and filled with linen-wrapped chairs and tables set with fine silverware and tall, bursting bouquets of expensive flowers.
Everyone mills around outside the marquee, enjoying the free champagne and hors d’oeuvres. The women stand on their tiptoes to keep their heels from sinking in the grass, and the men pretend they’re not sweltering in their stuffy suits.
At the high table within the marquee, I take off my jacket and throw it over the back of my seat, then head back outside. I down a flute of champagne to help me get through the afternoon, then quickly nab another from a passing waiter.
The guests are all talking among themselves, but I eschew the small talk. Acquaintances of my father are never the most engaging of conversationalists. I hardly feel the need to talk about politics, Brexit, or how many kids Kate and William have popped out.
In fact, with my father’s warning ringing in my head, I know I’m probably better off silent.
I’ve been on thin ice with my family since I “liked” a satirical article online that poked fun at the royal family. That happened only a couple of weeks after I was banned from a local nightclub for drinking too much and refusing to wait in line. My behavior has been imperfect, but I find it hard to feel too remorseful. We can’t all be pencil-pushers and stuffed shirts.
After half a dozen drinks and a few hundred photos, it’s time to dine. A servant—no, a waiter—clad in a stiff penguin suit ceremoniously rings a bell to instruct us to head into the marquee. We move like cattle inside and take our seats.
The high table faces out over all the guests. I hate sitting there and knowing that everyone is looking in my direction. Percy is already grinning like a moron, waiting for me to screw up.
In front of me sits hundreds of socialites dressed in designer suits, gowns, and elaborate fascinators. They all wear the same fixed, empty smiles plastered on their faces like mannequins.
We all stand when the bride and groom enter. A round of applause fills the air. Alexander lifts an arm and waves his hand in small circles like he’s Queen Elizabeth. Olivia shyly clutches his other hand, but her smile is radiant.
When they sit at the center of the high table, everybody else sinks into their chairs, and my father initiates the meal with the first toast. He stands, raising his glass of champagne in the air. “It is with great pleasure that we welcome you all here today to join us in celebrating the marriage of Olivia and Alexander. I invite you to join me in a toast. For the first time as a married couple, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Southby.”
Everyone cheers and drinks; then the waiters begin to serve the first course.
I’m sitting to the right of Alexander. He turns to me with a wide smile. “There we have it, Henry. I’m a married man.”
I tilt my glass in his direction. “Congratulations.”
“I know Father’s worried you’re going to try to be funny during your speech.”
“I wouldn’t dream of being funny.”
Alexander grins but says no more. He’s waiting for me to cause a disaster, just like everyone else.
The food is exquisite. We’re spoiled with course after course of the most delicious catering and bottomless glasses of champagne. By the time it’s my turn to give a speech, I’m feeling a little light-headed, but as best man, I have no choice.
