Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

Entry #1

Meanwhile, the Big Misunderstanding:

His name is actually Duncan Powerthrush and his love interest turns out to be his twin sister, separated at birth.  Or his mother (no wait, Sophocles already did that).

Entry #2

“You don’t understand,” Duncan growled. “It’s true that I said I could never marry a highwayman. I have the title to think of—how could the next Duke of Stonedick be the son of a common thief?”

Tears filled Jessalynn’s eyes, which were the same shade of blue as Duncan’s balls after one of her infamous cockteases. She ran to the door. 

“Not again! Wait, damn it! You didn’t hear the rest. I said I could never marry a highwayman—UNLESS it was the fair Jessalynn Honeybiscuit in disguise, robbing coaches so that her nine siblings could go to Eton or have London seasons, according to their gender, and her spendthrift father could continue to whore and gamble away the family fortune!”

He spun Jessalynn around and ripped off her fake mustache. 

“Marry me,” he murmured, before slowly licking off the mustache glue that clung to her upper lip.

Entry #3

Duncan Larksthrush stared, disbelieving. Before him lay Countess Alicia Hymennbultham in the thrall of Roderigo, his ex-stepcousin and mortal enemy!

“My darling,” he cried, still unable to tear his eyes from the golden-feathered eagle mask that his rival wore – the same mask the monks had constructed so Duncan might tease the voluptuous ornithologist. How Roderigo had intercepted his mute messenger, Duncan couldn’t know – though now that he thought about it, Roderigo’s tutor’s daughter had been seen in the village, and with the debt the poor scholar owed Roderigo, it could very well have been a case of beauty slaying the beast.

Hopefully not literally. Duncan made a note to look for his messenger.

But how could Alicia fall so willingly for the ploy? Hadn’t she asked the golden-masked cad the secret question he had detailed in his letter? Why did this torment him so?

Could he still love her?

Entry #4

“Devil take you Duncan Thrushbush! I may be your illegitimate half brother’s gypsy-blooded foster sister, but that doesn’t mean that my child, who bears a marked resemblance to you, as well has having the Duke of Rockthrust’s telltale birthmark, is his!” Esmeralda D’Amour’s heaving strained the laces on her already too tight bodice as she flung her sun dappled golden tresses over her creamy bare shoulder contemptuously.

Rockthrust glowered ravenously at his beautiful buxom beloved who had betrayed him so abominably with is own bastard brother. His sinewy arms snaked out, wrapping Esmeralda in his steely grip as he devoured her with his stone cold grey eyes.  “I saw that cur in your bed, the night that the child you claim is mine was conceived in rapturous love-making, with my own piercing gaze.”

“Dearest,” Esmeralda whispered achingly, “You were looking into a mirror above my bed and mistook yourself for him.”

Entry #5

“I would never leave you, Duncan.  Darling, your base-born gypsy half-brother kidnapped me and left me on the windswept promontory of Rannoch Moor.  He swore to hurt my poor, penniless father if I told you.  After Papa wagered me at faro, Crofter MacDougal was to hide me and protect my virtue.  Yet, thinking me a poor tenant, you used my nubile body to satisfy your fiery lust!” cried Arden.  “Your bastard kin promised to bring me to my father.”

“Damn you, Arden.  Why did you not tell me you were a de Vere?  I cringe to think that I have sullied your lustrous innocence with the proud passion of Rockthrust.  When you greeted my brother at our engagement ball last night, I was overwhelmed with rage, thinking you were ablaze with desire for him.  Forgive me, my sweet,” Duncan groaned.

Her eyes shone with devotion as she replied, “Always.”

Entry #6

“Tell me, beautiful Dell,” Duncan breathed into her apple-scented hair, “why do you deny my love so?  What password will gain entry to your heart?”

She sighed and turned away, staring over the vista.  “I can no longer hide it from you.  You, Duncan Larksthrush, Duke of Rocksthrust, are a proud member of Clan Macintosh, whereas I—“

“Yes, my dearest?” he whispered, praying her response would allow him into her network.

“I am a member of the De Fenetre family, those your people call Windows.  So you see that our love is forever hopeless.”

His heart accessed joy for the first time in many cycles.  “But Dell, then there is no incompatibility at all!  See the two pairs of footwear I sport—did you not realize that I am a dual-boot Macintosh?”

Dell crashed into his embrace.

Entry #7

Duncan hastily adjusted his inexpressibles. Finch had warned him that Lady Heliotrope was this very moment mounting the stairs. If only were she mounting Duncan.  No lady of quality would be so bold. And yet no lady should visit a gentleman in his home. Perhaps---

Heliotrope burst in, her russet curls disarrayed. “You bounder!” She struck him with her reticule.

“Hell, what’s wrong?” asked Duncan, protecting his placket with long elegant fingers. Undeterred, Heliotrope tore his pants, revealing yards of bunched-up batting.

“I knew it!” she cried triumphantly. “You are too pretty to be a man. It’s Donna, is it not?”

Duncan swished his leonine mane. “What if it is?”

Heliotrope’s hazel eyes misted. “I remember the nights at Miss Hornblower’s Academy.”

“As do I, Hell. And this way we can be together always. Marry me.”

“Oh, yes!” She fell into his arms with joy.

Entry #8

Duncan’s chiseled jaw gaped with shock, his loins tightened unbearably at Lady Iphiginia’s revelation. His muscled arms swept his hotly blushing betrothed against the officer’s uniform covering his rock hard chest. Duncan probed her gaze as he rocked her against the evidence of his desire, watching the unmistakable passion flowering across her face and down her body. Oh, no. She was not the innocent he had thought.

“I struggled mightily to contain my manly lust,” he groaned. “You seemed so chaste. I had to protect you from myself upon returning from war to make you my bride!”

“Oh, Duncan!” exclaimed Iphiginia pulling him towards the settee, long hidden desire flaring in her gaze. “I was so anxious you would reject me when you learned that I had discovered passion and explosive release long ago with my childhood friend and ladies’ maid Mabel!” Shuddering, Duncan pressed her back against the cushions.

Entry #9

“Did you think I would not spy you with Fiona?” wailed Roxanna Liberty. “In my own flowerbeds, the lavish tending of which has helped me forget the unfortunate demise of my impotent husband at sea?”

“You misunderstand!” cried Duncan. “Due to the machinations of Fiona’s wizard ex-lover, a transdimensional warphole was opened in her fantasy-canyon in order to allow his army of secret babies to enter and subjugate this world with their infant fury and questionable paternity. The only way to bend the forces of the warphole in her funhole to my will was to use the powers of the Sceptre Stone!”

“The Sceptre Stone,” Roxanna gasped. “The one on your…”

“Sceptre?” Duncan finished. “Don’t you remember? I had it pierced for our one-week anniversary.”

“Forgive me!” Roxanna begged. “God only knows the sacrifices you made plumbing Fiona’s southmouth in order to spare us the horror of secret babies.”

Entry #10

Pain ripped through Duncan Thrustwood, Duke of Amnesiacshire, and tore at old scars.

Ivulka’s figure was a graceful poem. “Duncan, this is Brother Frodo McChayste, our ancient family priest.”

Duncan could barely see the monk’s enormous hairy feet through the red haze that obscured his vision. He snarled, manfully.

“I know Ivanka’s betrayal damaged your trust in women,” continued Ivulka, “So he is one of my permanent escorts.”

Orgies! Duncan smouldered.

“And Brother Frodo is a eunuch.”

Such shopworn excuses could not deceive Duncan – he had read those Robin Schone books. He growled.

“And here is unequivocal proof of my loyalty, a...”

Duncan could no longer bear to listen. He achingly inserted strong fingers into his well-shaped ears. “La la laaaa. I can’t heeeear you,” he roared.

“Duncan."Her limpid blue eyes shimmered with unspoken emotion. “What troubles you?”

“Ivulka, stop. Your reckless understanding will make this a novella. I will not be able to demonstrate my unplumbed depths of pain, my wide emotional ranges. I need conflict. I need angst. I need torment.”

“Oh Duncan,” she said softly, “We could argue about spanking.”

Duncan’s well-shaped lips curved into a smile. The Jezebel – she was with child!

Entry #11

Duncan Larksthrush raised his hand, swept back his manly mane, and strode into the drawing room.  “Would you be Miss Applebottom?” he inquired.

The woman on the settee pursed her cherry lips before responding, “I am.”

Duncan was confused.  This woman looked unlike the bitter old hag he had been expecting.  Miss Applebottom looked young, in a well cut pink dress, that hugged womanly curves, her blonde hair swept back from her face.

“Do you care to explain this?” Larksthrush held a picture out.

“I am not sure what you mean,” Penelope replied, although she was afraid she did.  Somehow Larksthrush had discovered that she had been using his visage for novel covers.  Novels that as a lady she was not supposed to know of, and certainly not supposed to read for fear that people might think she was of lesser intelligence.  This had all the makings of a disaster.