The Duke's Suspicion. Susanna Craig

      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

      LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2018 by Susan Kroeg

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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      Lyrical Press and Lyrical Press logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.

      First Electronic Edition: October 2018

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0402-4

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0402-1

      First Print Edition: October 2018

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0403-1

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0403-X

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      To the doctors and nurses who kept me—and my writing dream—alive.

      Acknowledgments

      You know you’ve assembled a great support network as an author when you find yourself thanking the usual suspects. My heartfelt gratitude to Jill Marsal; Esi Sogah and the team at Kensington/Lyrical; the members of The Beau Monde chapter of Romance Writers of America, especially Bill Haggart, for thoughtful feedback and helpful information on military matters; Amy Hay and Cynthia Tennent, for their insights and sage advice; and last, but never least, my husband and daughter, for their grace, patience, and love in helping me survive much more than the usual deadline panic this time around.

      Chapter 1

      As dark clouds rolled over the Cumbrian sky and thunder rumbled in the distance, Erica Burke discovered she had made a serious error in judgment. Several errors, in fact.

      The most serious error, obviously, had been leaving her journal inside the inn where they had stopped to rest the horses. She was often forgetful. Careless, other people called it. But in truth she cared a great deal. Losing her journal would have meant losing months of work, losing the record of every botanical observation she had made since coming to England.

      It would have meant losing a piece of herself.

      To be fair, though, she would never have left her journal at a posting inn if she hadn’t been traveling. So hadn’t the real error in judgment been agreeing to accompany her sister? True, a lady often took a female companion on her wedding trip, a custom grounded in the assumption that the activities and interests of men and women, even newly married ones, were entirely separate. But Cami’s insistence on Erica’s joining her had had very little to do with convention. And as far as Erica could see, her brother-in-law, Lord Ashborough, had only one interest: his new bride. The only activity in which he wanted to indulge was… Well.

      With a wary eye toward the sky, Erica hopped from the coach without explanation and hurried back across the filthy inn yard, blaming the sudden wave of heat that washed over her on the exertion. She had been promised the chance to explore the plants and flowers of the Lake District, and she was determined not to be put off by the occasional moment of embarrassment, or by the knowledge that her presence was entirely extraneous. Her only concession had been to ride in the baggage coach on occasion, with Mr. Remington, Lord Ashborough’s manservant, and Adele. Try as she might, Erica could not bring herself to think of the French girl as “Lady Ashborough’s maid.” It would have required her to concede that Cami was now a lady, and not simply her overbearing elder sister.

      On the threshold of the inn’s dining parlor, she was forced to reevaluate her assessment once more. A group of rowdy young men now filled the table at which she and her party had been seated only moments ago. Avoiding as best she could the men’s eyes, hands, and voices, Erica pressed forward to retrieve what was hers. Perhaps the most serious error had been leaving Lord Ashborough’s mastiff, Elf, in Shropshire with the new vicar and his wife. Elf was neither fierce nor especially