The Duke of New York_A Contemporary Bad Boy Royal Romance Read online

  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.