Of course, the aforementioned eyes were but glass, gleaming lifelessly from the stuffed and mounted heads of the late duke’s victims—er, hunting trophies—so perhaps it was appropriate that Graham’s status was equally fragile. The study decor was an oppressive combination of dark wood, dark paper and dark death. Graham fancied that the glossy gazes followed him as he paced, their glinting opacity a plea for final release. The smell, unfortunately, was not born of imagination. Had this room always smelled of musty tobacco and dry, fusty decay? It was a scent that Graham permanently associated with his father. Add freshly fired gunpowder and whiskey and one would expect the old duke himself to stride in at any moment. The duke is dead. Long live the duke. Graham turned and snarled back at the giant brown bear looming in the corner. “I am duke now.” An hour later, Graham toasted his back-garden bonfire with his fourth . . . fifth? . . . whiskey. Antlers burned like dry wood, he’d found, and if one stood carefully upwind, one could even enjoy the fiery glow of relief in the glass eyes before they were lost in the flames.
What do You think about Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 03]?
![Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 03]](/i/cover.jpg)
