Her Duke at Midnight - Book Tour and Giveaway

​A governess and her secret take an invincible duke by storm…

Her Duke at Midnight
Mythic Dukes Book 3
by Wendy LaCapra
Genre: Historical Paranormal Regency Romance 

A governess and her secret take an invincible duke by storm...

The Duke of Hurtheven will stop at nothing to protect those he loves. So, when a mysterious new governess captures his godchild’s affection, he vows to uncover her secrets. Instead, she sets him aflame.

Miss Hera Bythesea accepted a governess position to secure the character reference she needs to reclaim her secret child. But she did not count on Hurtheven—curious, relentless, and temptation in human form.

In Hera's world, Hurtheven faces a challenge his power and wealth cannot solve. But for the love of unwed mother and child, he’ll undertake any Herculean Labor.

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​(The heroine, Hera, meets the Duke of Hurtheven just after he discovers her charge–his goddaughter–wandering alone in a hedge)

He was close enough for his breath to raise gooseflesh on her neck. Who could steal up behind a person so quickly and not make a sound? A devil incarnate, that was who.
No matter. She squared her shoulders. She’d faced devils before.
She swiveled around with as much dignity as she could muster. “There you are!” She addressed Felicia. “I’m very disappointed in you, young lady.”
Felicia chewed her lip, glancing between her nursemaid and the duke. With eyes wide and innocent, she wrapped her arm more tightly around the duke’s neck.
“You must be the incomparable new nursemaid.” Hurtheven’s tone suggested he found her anything but.
“Indeed.” Though she dropped a quick curtsy, she made certain her tone revealed her own disdain. “I’m afraid, however, you have me at a loss.”
“Do I?” He revealed a line of white, even teeth in neither a smile, nor a sneer, but a chilling combination of the two.
“Well”—she wet her lips—“I imagine I would remember if we’d been introduced.”
“Of course you would.”
Ugh. The arrogance. Her initial assessment had, of course, been correct.
Well, if he wasn’t going to own up to being a duke, she needn’t treat him as one. She fixed a level gaze on him and held out her arms. “If I might have my charge, Mr.—?”
He did not immediately reply. In fact, he didn’t speak until the tendons on the back of her knees started to quiver. A useful silence, Karl had called that trick. But she could no longer be tricked. She kept her expression patient, pleasant.
The duke returned his attention to the child. “Hurt?”
Fee scoffed. “No.”
The duke exhaled, holding her close for a significant moment.
Hera inhaled sharply. Hot embarrassment prickled in her neck as if she were witnessing something she ought not. He’d been genuinely frightened.
“Fee,” the duke addressed the child, “you must go back inside…and stay there.”
Her little fingers dug into his skin. “Can’t I stay with you?”
He angled his head to meet her gaze and his expression softened. “Ah, but if you do stay with me, you’d have to be a proper lady and greet every one of your father’s guests.”
Fee dropped her jaw, widened her eyes, and then violently shook her head.
“I didn’t think so.” He touched her nose. “Now, you go back upstairs, and I promise I’ll be up to see you when the party is finished.”
Fee pouted. “You’ve been gone forever.”
He nodded. “An interminable amount of time, I agree. And I missed you every day—”
No. No. She would not reconsider her judgement of the man just because he looked into Felicia’s eyes with tenderness and spoke to her as if she were the most important thing to him in the world.
“—An hour longer is all I ask. Surely the party guests will be leaving by midafternoon. And, if you go quietly, and Mrs. Montrose tells me you’ve been good, I promise presents tonight.”
Fee considered. “Good presents?”
“The best, of course.” Fleetingly, he met Hera’s gaze over Fee’s head. “They’re from me, aren’t they?”
Hera bit back a groan.
“You do give good presents.” Felicia nodded. “I’ll go.”
“And be good?” he prompted.
“And be good.” She parroted.
“That’s my girl.” He kissed Fee’s forehead before planting her on her feet.
As Hera reached out to take Fee’s hand, her arm brushed his, singeing her flesh. Fire and brimstone.
“I trust”—he spoke as if she were the errant child—”you will not to lose her again.”
“Of course not. She’s promised you to be good.” Hera matched his authoritative baritone with her best no-nonsense nursemaid voice. “Good day.”
Her still-tucked-up skirts may have belied her bravado, but she turned and walk back to the house, head held high. All will be well.
“Mrs. Montrose?”
She stopped.
“That is your name?”
His voice dripped with undisguised suspicion.
She glanced back over her shoulder. How had he discovered her surname was false? Or—she narrowed her eyes—was he just guessing?
“Why would I lie about my name?” she asked.
“Why, indeed.” He lifted a brow, not in the least cowed nor convinced by her insouciance. “I was merely making sure I remembered correctly.”
She smiled, briefly and innocently. “Allow me to reassure you…your memory is sound.” She tilted her head in a pitying manner. “My father had trouble remembering things in his later years, too.”
Without waiting to see his reaction, she returned her gaze to the door and quickened her pace.
Obviously, all was not going to be well.
She could carefully advance across this checkered board while employing every ounce of competence and skill she possessed and still find herself ruthlessly knocked aside. This man wasn’t a pawn. He wasn’t even a rook, a knight, or a king.
This man was the player.
And his presence challenged everything.

His Duchess at Eventide
Mythic Dukes Book 2 

Lovers reunited & a dukedom reclaimed—the Regency meets the Odyssey

Lord Cheverley, son of the Duke of Ithwick, returns to England devastated physically and emotionally by seven years of war, a shipwreck, and six years in the captivity of a brutal pirate. The courts have declared him dead, and his wife is entertaining suitors. Should he demand his rightful place, disrupting his family’s lives, or should he return to sea, seeking vengeance against the pirate? He sets out to find the answer in disguise.

Penelope once believed in love, but then the man who swept her off her feet deserted her, leaving her and her unborn child utterly alone. She will do anything to protect her son, including enlisting the aid of a mysterious sea captain to uncover the true intentions of her devious suitors. But the captain soon awakens something in Penelope, and she begins to suspect he is no stranger. But, as they peel back the layers of a deadly plot, can this broken family heal their wounds in time to save what really matters?


What Readers Are Saying:

Romance and adventure that will keep you up at night!
-Eva Devon

...stunning in its emotional intensity and, for me, her best writing yet. The journey of these characters shattered my heart, filled me with hope, and kept me reading late into the night, finally releasing me with the reassurance that some bonds, though stretched beyond imagination, cannot be broken, that evil foes can be vanquished, that love wins.
-PJ on the Romance Dish

His Duchess at Eventide is a tale that is all things fabulous, mythical and epic. …I know Chev, Penelope and their romance will have a firm place on my ebook keeper shelf and in my memory.
-Gayle on Lady Celeste Reads Romance

Stunning, Emotional, Heartbreaking and full of hope , this has to be one of my all time favourite books.
-Maggie, Amazon Reviewer


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​

​One
November 1805
​
Wind whipped Captain Lord Cheverley’s improvised sail against his raft’s mast. Salted sea-spray stung his lips and gusts roared in his ears. Using his shoulder, he wiped rain from his eyes and then re-wedged the paddle between his left arm and leg. Thighs straining, he gripped the groaning rudder.
He hadn’t survived the unspeakable—seven years of war, a shipwreck, the loss of his right arm below the elbow, and six excruciating years of captivity—only to fail now.
Had he?
Wine-dark depths did not defer to long-serving officers of the Royal Navy. Frothy white waves were indifferent to sons of dukes. And life-hungry storms didn’t give a damn if they stripped wives of their husbands, or sons of their fathers.
Penelope. Thaddeus. Vast emptiness yawned. Instinctively, he beseeched the heavens. Please. I must survive.
No god answered, only darkness without direction, no land, no guiding stars. The blank, shifting water beneath promised death—the same, slow demise that had claimed the lives of Chev’s fellow seamen stationed with him on the HMS Defiance.
That gale, too, had materialized as if summoned by Poseidon’s trident, without warning and yet powerful enough to devour his sixty-four-gun ship. Rocks like rusted knives protruded from a deadly shoal. Waves thundered without reprieve, breaking the Defiance into pieces unfit for kindling. And his ship’s end had been only the beginning of his nightmare.
Tu n’es rien. You are nothing. Je te possède maintenant en entier. I own every part of you, now.
His raft listed. He spit over the side.
How much adversity could a man face before he surrendered to annihilation’s mercy? How god-damned much?
The wind bellowed. Siren whispers sounded, sensing weakness--supplicate, surrender, submit.
What did he have to offer the world he’d left behind? He’d thought he’d return a hero. Instead, he was broken in body and soul. If he yielded to the storm, would it not be kinder to his family and a just restitution for his sins?
Memories feathered through his thoughts. His face buried in the softness of Penelope’s hair. Her fingers, drifting in soothing circles against the small of his back.
He inhaled deep, straining against invisible bonds and roaring back into the wind. He cursed fate. He cursed God. He cursed the pirate witch who’d kept him captive. Then, he cursed himself.
His anger crystalized in breath, clouding the chilled air. He’d escaped captivity, darkness, restraints. Zephyr’s winds and Poseidon’s waves demanded the final say, but he would not give up without a fight.
Not tonight.
The bundle strapped across his back held what little remained of hung beef and brandy. His cask of fresh water ran low, but he had enough to last another day.
He smothered his weakness, gritted his teeth, and held fast to the rudder.
He’d survive.
He’d survive on the pure need for vengeance.
​

Her Duke at Daybreak
Mythic Dukes Book 1 

2018 Romance Writers of America® RITA® Contest Finalist

A devilish duke & a proper widow agree to three nights, but will explosive passion cost more than they have bargained?

Infamous for his pedigree of madness and murder, the reclusive Duke of Ashbey believes he cannot feel until a mysterious woman unlocks a world of sensation in a single, shattering moment of connection. Ash casts a desperate bid for more.

Recent widow Alicia Stone has long been reviled as the chief impediment to a love affair that captured the nation’s imagination. Publicly, she settled for respectability’s cold comfort, but, secretly, she longs to experience what she never found with her famous husband—uninhibited passion. When Ashbey proposes a discreet three-night assignation, Alicia shocks herself by accepting. But will their explosive union cost them both far more than they bargained?

What Readers Are Saying:
"Great characters. Great sex. Great story." -Author Abigail Sharp

"Ms LaCapra has loaded this book with drama, a bit of angst (but notanoverdose), a sprinkle of humor and sizzle. I was glued to this bookfrom start to finish, it's just that good." -Deb Diem, Goodreads

"Her Duke at Daybreak is a steamy romance but it is so much more. It is the joining of two lost souls." -Kelly Tyree, Goodreads

"This is my first experience of Wendy's books , it won't be the last. Her characters are wonderful and her writing is riveting." -Maggie Whitworth, Goodreads

"This was a Happily Ever After that almost didn't happen so that makes it all the more enjoyable when it finally comes." -Diane, Goodreads


** Get it FREE for a limited time!! **
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​

​ONE
A distinctly male scent filled the air--wealthy male, a scent she recognized but could not place. Hair on her neck raised; she forced a calming breath. Nothing came of panic. She’d learned that on the high seas.
“Please, have a seat.”
His cultured intonation disproved her first assumption—that he was yet another of Octavius’s creditors, the horrid men who demanded money in the most unlikely of places.
“Imprisonment,” she said coolly, “is not to my taste. And if it is not to yours, I suggest you unlock that door.”
“Admirable restraint,” he said.
“Losing one’s head is a luxury afforded only to those accustomed to care.”
He made a deep, humming sort of sound, a sound she felt in her belly.
“A woman such as yourself should be accustomed to care.”
She added outrageous to a list that included male, wealthy, and cultured. “I do not believe we’ve been introduced, Mr. —?”
“The honorific you seek is Your Grace.”
She turned. His face was illuminated by the faint glow spilling from a lighted sconce.
The duke—if he was truly a duke—was at least a full head taller than she, but it was his smoldering eyes that sparked recognition. He was the man from the funeral.
For a split second that might as well have been an eternity, her mind went blessedly blank. Then, bereft of thought’s direction, her senses began to dance.
Stop, she ordered.
But he smells so nice, they whined.
“You’ve surmised you are in no immediate danger.”
But she was in danger. Pure peril, actually—past, present and future. “Have I surmised correctly?”

TWO
Either they were swaying, or the room had started to rock. Alicia wasn’t sure which sensation she should heed. Her weight rested on her right foot, now, her left…but neither foot was keeping her aloft. She remained upright only because Ashbey held her against his chest as if she were his cherished bride.
She was not his cherished bride.
Nor would this be a marital coupling done with hasty discretion beneath the proper shielding of sheets—thank heavens.
The duke restrained his masculine force, but it hung in the air like a scent, taunting. Tempting. She’d glimpsed his manhood—he was already cocked and fully primed.
He’d said something before taking her into his arms. Something that had roused her anger. Only she couldn’t remember his words. She could not remember any words, for that matter. Words were stupid and useless, a mere nothing next to the wanton anticipation thrilling her blood.
Tonight, she’d finally understand the sounds that had filled those long-ago Caribbean evenings. She’d make sense of the shadows she’d seen dancing on the walls. She’d learn passion, unrestrained.
She wanted it all—all the sighs, the groans, the pleasure—and she wanted it now.
Her hands crept up his hard forearms and into the unbelievable softness of his hair. Tentatively, she stroked his neck.
He ceased swaying, and a rumbling noise tore from his core. The desperate sound unleashed a sense of power, as if he had been formed for her and her alone.
“Kiss me.” She lifted her face.
He guided her mouth to his. The slide of his lips and the exploration of his tongue combined. This was more than a kiss. The heat of his mouth promised all she needed. Greedily, she demanded more.
“Slow,” he said through a ragged breath.
She shook her head no. Desire’s waves were rollicking and fast. Why wade tentatively into the ocean when she longed to dive and submerge?
She hadn’t felt him loosen the laces of her dressing gown, but the silk slipped from her shoulders down into the crooks of her arms.
​

​Historical Romance author Wendy LaCapra writes award-winning books reviewers describe as ‘heart-pounding, entrancing’, ‘lusciously romantic and sparkling with wit.’ As a teen, Wendy discovered spine-tingling gothics in her local public library, inspiring her to craft her own seductive tales full of secrets and scandal. She lives with her husband in a quirky, historic building in NYC and loves a girls’ night in. For new release, sale alerts and other news, sign up at http://bit.ly/GetWendyNews

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