Avon Impulse Historical Romance eBook

Includes Lord Lovedon's Duel and The Jilting of Lord Rothwick novellas.

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Men go to war and chance having their heads blown off. All I had to do was find a rich girl to wed. Not a problem. I’ve never been squeamish.
— The Jilting of Lord Rothwick

Royally Ever After

Now published together for the first time: Loretta Chase's beloved novellas Lord Lovedon's Duel from the Royal Bridesmaids anthology and The Jilting of Lord Rothwick from the Royal Weddings anthology

In Lord Lovedon's Duel, Chloe Sharp is prepared to protect her family's name, even to the death. When she hears the handsome Earl of Lovedon say her sister's royal marriage is a match made in money, she challenges him to a duel—for love and honor.

When the Marquess of Rothwick learns his fiancée, Barbara Findley, has broken off their engagement in The Jilting of Lord Rothwick, he rides out of London immediately to seek her out … and to win her back.

“Linked by weddings, royals, and a whimsical touch, these two short stories, previously published in anthologies, make a delightful duet and are rare offerings from a writer who generally focuses on longer formats."—Library Journal

~Read an Excerpt
from "Lord Lovedon's Duel"~

Castle de Grey, Kensington
Wednesday 17 June 1835

Chloe Sharp started to open the door to the gallery, but paused as a wave of masculine laughter spilled toward them. Althea stopped, too, and caught hold of Chloe’s arm. They both giggled the way they used to do when they were children, hiding to spy on grownups.

“But everybody knows he was obliged to give up the girl he loved,” somebody said. Mr. Crawford? Chloe had met so many aristocrats today that their names and faces were a hopeless muddle in her brain.

“Which girl was that?” another man said.

“A sweetheart Prince Louis left behind in Massbeck-Holveg,” Crawford said. “Lovers torn asunder, you know, by Fate.” [read more...]

~Read an Excerpt
from "The Jilting of Lord Northwick"~

8 February 1840
Two o’clock in the afternoon

The rain, two degrees from sleet, beat down with unrelenting fury. It reduced the rolling landscape to a grey blur, and turned the graveled driveway into a river. 

Hugh Fitzwalter, the third Marquess of Rothwick, slammed the door knocker again. Findley’s staff had picked a fine time to go deaf.

After a fifty-mile ride from London, the frigid wet had penetrated his lordship’s overcoat and was working its way through the coat underneath. It seeped into his boots and dripped icily from his hat, down his neck, and into his neckcloth. [read more...]