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Prologue

Saint Ger frolass, and ne turned the sooty streets to rivers ofat the city from the bell tower of Saint Ger in store s, and though he couldn’t s berries over doors signaled that all of Paris had turned its erbread and spice, of rich wine and sugared cakes An ancient joy shone in each passerby’s eyes and spilled fro in the wild peals of church bells that kept breaking out first in one church and then another, in the way each sprig of mistletoe sheltered sweet kisses It was Christmas…It was Christmas in Paris, and if there was ever a city made for love, and a season ether were as intoxicating as the strongest red wine

In fact, philosophers have argued for years whether it is possible to be in Paris and not fall in love…if not with a ravishing woleam of the illicit that touches every heart, even those of proper English noblemen The duke would have answered that question without hesitation He had throay his heart after one glance at Notre Dame, had succumbed to the siren call of delicious food after one bite of French bread, and had finally--absolutely--irrevocably--fallen in love with a young and ravishingly beautiful member of the opposite sex

From where Fletch stood in the bell tower, Ponte Neuf leapt the Seine in a voluptuous curve, and all Paris shimmered below hioyle sported a long silver nose Notre Dame floated queen-like above the otherfor God’s attention The cathedral ignored such slender anxieties, counting herself more beautiful, more devoted, more luxurious than the others Christmas, she seemed to say, is mine

"It’s almost miraculous, hoe feel about each other"

Fletch blinked and looked down at his bride-to-be, Miss Perdita Selby For a ly mixed in his mind: as if a cathedral were more erotic than a woman; as if a woman were more sacred than the holiday

She smiled up at hiold streaked with sunlight, her mouth as sweet and ripe as any French pluood to be true, Fletch? You don’t, do you?"

"Of course not!" Fletch said promptly "You’re the most beautiful woman in the country, Poppy The only miracle is that you fell in love witha slender finger squarely on the dimple in the middle of his chin "TheI wanted in a husband"

"And that is?" He put his ar It was Paris, after all, and while there were plenty of English gentlefolk here, standards weren’t as rigid as they were back in London

"Well, you are a duke," she said teasingly

"You just love me for my title?" He bent his head to kiss her on the cheek Her skin was inexpressibly creamy and soft It drove him into an ecstasy of lust…a French-inflected lust, the kind that wanted to kiss a woman from the very tip of her toes to the top of her ears, that wanted to lick and snuffle and eat her, as if she were more delicious than a truffle (which she would be)

It was not the kind of lust he ever felt before he caland, e and buck But Fletch could feel hi, the power of Paris and love He wanted to worship Poppy’s body, taste the sweet salt of her sweat, kiss away her tears of joy after he brought her to the ulti "Your title is all important I didn’t even notice how handsome you are, or the way you treat ladies with so much respect, or the fact that you dance so beautifully, or--or this di her again, and heas he could so she would relax into the intiirl in the world, but she was devilishly hard to kiss Every tiet her alone, there was always some reason why he couldn’t hold her, why he couldn’t kiss her At this rate, they would have to wait until their wedding night to indulge in any and all of the wanton things that paraded through his mind twenty-four hours a day

"In your chin," she said, nodding her head "The dimple hat really runtled "I hate this dirow a beard to cover it up"