‘Strait-laced. Ruthless. Arrogant.’

Alexander Westhide, the Duke of Rakecombe, does not have any quarrel with such faint praise as he has forever shunned marriage, ladies, and anything remotely resembling like. Certainly, the damning phrases merely serve to improve his haughty façade. But under the managed demeanor is situated a duke beset by tragedy, a man turbulent and restless.

‘Forthright. Impudent . Capricious saucebox.’

Miss Aideen Quinlan can’t quite explain so why she feels the need to taunt, tease, about Let Sleeping Dukes Lie and generally annoy the Duke of Rakecombe. Maybe it was for the heart-racing spar of terms that usually ensued, or possibly it had been to start to see the duke’s broad fist clench on his ebony cane, green eye glittering.

Or maybe it had been because she was unable to erase the storage of his vehement kiss . . .

An unlikely few.

Torn between his globe of espionage and this unquenchable interest, the duke even now refuses to decrease his fierce defenses. If Aideen is usually to capture her resistant duke’s stressed heart, it is she who are required to follow the Rules from the Rogue. Resistance is normally futile . . .