His Duchess Is A Ghost Novels & Stories

It sounded like Annalise was a rogue garden hose, not a woman with feelings (feelings I desperately hoped she reciprocated, by the way). “And what exactly is this way out?” I asked, cautiously optimistic. The Duchess leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a mere murmur. “Let’s just say,” she said, a sly smile playing on her lips, “a hefty sum of money can make a lot of problems disappear.” My jaw dropped. Buy Annalise off? Did this woman think I was some kind of… well, a cad? Maybe a little desperate, but definitely not a human ATM. “Your Highness,” I said, my voice tight with indignation, “with all due respect, Annalise is not a… a commodity to be bought and sold.”

the irritation was obvious in those purple eyes that sparkled with it, eyes that seemed to want to destroy everything around them. 'A bankrupt duchess' came quickly to the little dragon's mind. Did she really think it would be like this? That a better proposal could not come? It was enough just to look at her title and then at his title. There was no comparison. "They will see...I will finish every one of them off, one by one!" threatened the wind in front of him, which made the little dragon laugh. "How will you finish them off? By clubbing them on the knees? Throw your dentures in their faces?" he scoffed, even though he knew she wouldn't hear.

I reached out and pressed the radio button on the steering wheel. My voice was cold, cutting through the static. "Mason Vale, do you see a ghost in your mirror?" I said coldly into the radio. Those words pierced straight through Mason's last line of composure. His car hesitated for an obvious instant on the straight. Now. I smashed the throttle down. The car tore through the air and pulled alongside him. Ahead was a chain of fast S-curves. Seeing that I was about to pass, a vicious look flashed through Mason's eyes.

And now, when we met again, I was already bones in the ground—and she had become a powerful, influential billionaire. But Nicky was sick. And she needed me. So she came looking for me—the man she hated with every fiber of her being—and unleashed her vengeance on everyone I loved. But I was already dead. Suddenly, Adeline's cold voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back. "If Samuel won't show himself, I'll just have to turn up the pressure." My stilled heart lurched. The next instant, Adeline gave the order. Her men swarmed my elderly father and hanged him alive—right there, in front of my grave.

"Thank you so much, Sir! I will be sure to return--" "Your Grace." He corrected me. "Huh?" "Have you been living under a rock?" The Duke? As his carriage whizzed past me, blood flooded my cheeks as the realization dawned. In my dazed stupor, I had managed to miss the most crucial detail. He was handsome, yes, far more captivating than the simpering Campbell princes. He didn't need the ostentatious gold armor of fairytales; he carried himself with an air of quiet power.

“You’re being an idiot. This isn’t the US military. We’re not sanctioned here and this warlord has some serious backers.” Duke came alongside him and they exchanged a meaningful glance. “What are you doing, Al?” Abruptly, she stiffened, then backed away from her laptop as if it might explode. When she turned, her eyes were wide with shock. “You’re the Ghost?” “Wait. What?” Duke glanced from the woman to Dex. “Who’s a ghost?”

he mumbled softly as if tasting that word in his mouth. "It's impossible that you are Duchess." He raised an eyebrow and looked at me intently. "Impossible." I laughed, the laugh Duchess made when she was fascinated. "Deathwish, Deathwish, don't you think I am kidding here? We've met before, so I know everything about you. Everything." I gave him a meaningful look.

Missing him pulls at my chest like a quiet ache, though knowing he’s away brings relief. We are presented. “His Grace, Duke Noah Wingknight of the Northern Reaches, and Her Grace, the Duchess Paige.” Quiet hangs heavy. After a breath, voices rise - sharper now, buzzing with heat instead of calm. Here they arrive. Curious ones first. Then those who mean trouble. Followed by quiet plotters slipping in behind. “Duchess, we heard such tales of your… resilience in the North. How… rustic it must be.” A lady with sapphires in her hair.

Duchess Moina chuckles as she tells herself. "I should be going..." She lets go of the whip on her hand, letting it drop on the floor as she sways her hips to turn around from Lady Berenice's blurry sight. With no energy left to move, Lady Berenice's eyes start to close. After some time ~~~~~ "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!" The Duchess is found screaming in fury in the hallway. ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟ

She told him most commandingly. "I can't disregard what I feel for you"The duchess says and the tall man stood up and turned toward her. “I want you to despoil me" She replied most brazenly, surprising even herself. “Ever since I saw you last night, I have not been myself. You are unlike any man I have known.” “But the Duke…” “The Duke will never know.” She said, throwing off her cloak. “I am here unknown to him. Let me give you what he took away so many years ago.”