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      AMANDA MCCABE wrote her first romance at the age of sixteen—a vast epic, starring all her friends as the characters, written secretly during algebra class. She’s never since used algebra, but her books have been nominated for many awards, including the RITA®, RT Reviewers’ Choice Award the Booksellers Best, the National Readers’ Choice Award and the Holt Medallion. She lives in Oklahoma, with a menagerie of two cats, a pug and a bossy miniature poodle, and loves dance classes, collecting cheesy travel souvenirs and watching the Food Network—even though she doesn’t cook.

      Visit her at www.ammandamccabe.tripod.com and www.riskyregencies.blogspot.com.

      A Regency Duchess’s Awakening

       The Shy Duchess

       To Kiss a Count

      Amanda McCabe

      

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Contents

       Cover

       About the Author

       Title Page

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Chapter Twenty-Four

       Epilogue

       To Kiss A Count

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Epilogue

       Author’s Note

       Endpage

       Copyright

The Shy Duchess

       Chapter One

      Lady Emily Carroll wished with all her might that the polished parquet floor beneath her satin slippers would open up and pull her down into the fiery pits of hell.

      It would be far preferable to Lady Orman’s ball.

      Emily hid behind a bank of towering potted palms, the silk-papered wall at her back as she peered between the green fronds at the crowd. Lady Orman’s rout was the invitation of the Season. Everyone who was anyone at all—and a few nobodies who managed to slip by the footmen—was gathered in the sparkling ballroom. Thousands of candles cast their light over the sheen of fine silk,

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