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Scent of a Duke -- EPUB

  • A woman with a gift for scent is the victim of an unscrupulous employer in 1811. She must find a way to provide for herself.
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Cover Artist:
Gwen Phifer

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In 1811 London, Briony Pettibone has a talent for making perfume as her nose is particularly sensitive to scents. Her employer’s family have been in the business for over a hundred years but unfortunately, neither the father nor the son have Briony’s abilities. They rely on her to invent new product for their customers.

Jemison Frost, Earl of Albany, has the stepmother no one desires. The lady wants him dead so her son can inherit the dukedom at her husband’s death. Jemison has been in hiding as a stable owner on the opposite side of London from his home, making furtive visits to the ducal residence to check on his father’s health.

When Briony and Jemison are thrown together by fate or perhaps merely by an errant hackney cab, life becomes risky for her and even more so for him and his father. They each must somehow rescue the other.


Mud from the rain of the night before sluiced down the busy London street. A horse pulling a hired hansom cab went by too fast. The wheels slid through the mucky water, throwing the dark liquid upward and right across Briony Pettibone's skirts. She let out a very unladylike sound and shook her fist at the back of the conveyance. "Blasted driver."

Looking down at the damage to her light blue uniform, she muttered under her breath, "Confounded mud."

The rumble of male laughter nearby caused her to glare in that direction. "What's so funny?"

She immediately wished she could turn and run 

The person facing her was tall and had the broadest shoulders she'd ever seen. A full head of long, dark, curly hair and a big beard to match made the man downright dangerous looking. But, she consoled herself, he was at least smiling. Or she thought he was under all that hair. 

"Such language from a lady is shocking, madam," the man dressed in the clothes of a stable hand said. 

"I'm no lady and I'm not a madam either." She jutted her chin out. She might be poor but she wasn't a woman of the street. He should notbe addressing her this way. 

"Excuse me then, but I sure thought you looked like a female. You know, a lady, a woman, someone of the fairer sex. If you're none of those then what should I call you?"

"Nothing. You shouldn't even be talking to me." Briony glanced down at the quickly drying mud. What would Mr. Pecksniff say when she returned to work in such a mess? She couldn't see customers in this state. Would he fire her? No. Surely not. 

"I usually like to know the name of young damsels I rescue from distress."

"What makes you think I'm in distress?" She crossed her arms and took a step closer to the protection of the buildings in case another errant nag decided to further sully her garments with the detritus of the streets.

"It's clear you are in distress. Your execrable language notwithstanding, you have on a shop girl's attire. If anything, you must be worried how your employer will react upon your return. I happen to have some soap and water inside and would be happy to see if some of that mud will come out." The smile on his face broadened. 


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