The Duke Is A Lion

THE DUKE IS A LION

LIZZIE LYNN LEE

Summary

Braxton Grantham, the Duke of Sherborne was a fearless warrior, a legendary general, and extremely loyal to his king until he was betrayed by him. King Edgar sentenced Braxton to death for a treasonous act he didn’t commit. As he was dying, Braxton made a pact with a demon that granted him power of revenge. But the power also had corrupted Braxton. He turned into a beast and was cursed to live forever in loneliness…unless, he can find a woman who will love him unconditionally despite his beastly appearance.

Bella Sutcliff is the youngest daughter of a formerly wealthy merchant who had fallen into rough times. Because her father was unable to pay taxes, the town chief chose her as this year’s tribute maiden. Every year for the past four centuries, the townsfolk of Sherborne are required to send a young woman as the bride of the Beastly Duke. Rumor has it he kills each bride if she displeases him in any way.

When Belle arrives at the Grantham’s estate, she doesn’t find the beast as repulsive as the rumors she’d heard. In fact, Belle finds him as a kindred soul. But will it be enough to break the four-hundred years’ curse that had imprisoned the Duke in his beastly shell? Can a maiden’s touch melt away the jaded heart of a cursed man?

First Edition 2017

©Copyright Lizzie Lynn Lee January 2017

Cover Art by (Lizzie Lynn Lee) ©Copyright (January/2017)

Edited by Nikki Heat

Proofread by Cassie Hess Dean

Galley proofread by Lisa Bing

This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Summary

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

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Lizzie Bibliography

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Prologue

Blood was still crusted to Braxton Grantham’s cheek when he set foot once more on his home soil. The victory of battle was fresh and invigorating, etched in his memory and as intoxicating as potent liquor. The triumph of winning the war often did that to a man, and then, there were few things that made a man feel more alive than the understanding that he, however momentarily, had evaded death. After four long years spent on Dane territory, destroying the forces that threatened Saxon and all she means, death should have been a certainty. No one escapes a battle forever.

No one but him.

From the wild landscapes of the Orient countryside to the incivility of the nations across the strait, there was no place he had not wandered, no land he had learned to fear. Men near and far feared the name Braxton Grantham. His reputation was his most beloved weapon—it never failed to leave its mark. Returning to Saxon after so long abroad had not dulled its edges.

His reputation was his greatest source of pride. So, too, was it his downfall.

There will surely be a celebration, Percival, his right-hand man, declared as they approached Londër herself. After such a torturous labor, bringing victory home for the crown is a great honor. I do imagine there will be a holiday declared. How do you like the sound of Braxton Day?

It sounds dreadful, he declared, shooting Percival a look. The horses they rode progressed slowly, allowing them ample time to speak.

Well then, how about something a little more ambiguous. Perhaps King Edgar would settle for something like Heroes Day, or Victory Day. Or perhaps you could name the day in honor of your good friend and loyal companion, Percival Fairweather. I do say, there’s something tremendously appealing about the name Fairweather Day. It sounds lovely.

There will be no holiday named in our honor, Braxton retorted, snorting with laughter. We were sent out to do our job, and we’ve done it. If holidays were named after so arbitrary a notion, we’d have no shortage of Blacksmith Days, or Housekeep Days.

No housekeeping has ever taken four years to accomplish, or could have resulted in the loss of a mighty empire should the starching have gone wrong.

The point of the matter is, I desire no other reward than bringing satisfaction to the king. His gaze wandered across the cityscape of Londër as he spoke, absorbing her charms. Smoke curled lazily from chimney stacks, and the smell of spiced meat saturated the air. The closer they drew, the louder they heard the commotion. People talking, laughing, singing, screaming…

The city he’d left behind was as vibrant as ever, and in his absence, she had grown larger still. There were new stone buildings he did not recognize, and roads that joined them. The streets were cleaner than he’d remembered, both of horse droppings and of hay. If there had been any sun, they would have sparkled.

Not even on a day like this could nature be bothered to shine light down on the greatest empire in the world.

I’d forgotten what home feels like, Percival observed.

Their horses approached the checkpoint, and he was pleased to see that labor was being invested into building walls. The more secure their sovereign’s home, the better he would sleep at night while abroad. While he did not doubt the king’s resilience on the battlefield, should the city be sieged during his absence... he feared for the safety of the people.

I as well. Braxton missed Londër more than he thought.

Two guards, tall and slender, little more than untried youths, stood at the checkpoint as they approached. One of them, a lad in his early teens, eyed Braxton as they stated their names and business.

Braxton Grantham, Duke of Sherbone and celebrated general for Britannia, said Braxton. The promise of a warm bed and a hot meal drew at his soul, and he detested the last mandatory pause before such things could be his. Once they arrived at the castle, he was sure King Edgar would welcome them in and have them fed as they recounted their tales of battle to him directly. Sitting by a fire on plush chaises, basking in its glow, as they dined on turkey legs and hearty root vegetables baked in spice sounded like a veritable paradise in light of the conditions they’d just left.

My bones will thank me tonight, Braxton thought, when I turn in for the evening to a bed instead of the ground. There is no pleasure as exquisite as comfort after so long spent deprived of anything apart from the lust of the kill.

Braxton Grantham? the lad gawked. "The Braxton Grantham?"

Unless another Duke of Sherbone has risen in my place during my absence, yes. He lifted his chin and pushed his shoulders back. Few mistook his physique—broad