The Finer Gentleman PDF

By Icy Snow Blackstone

The Test of A True Gentleman…

Tritomitian station owner Sarkin Trant has always known his great-grandfather was the illegitimate son of an Arcanian giarl but he’s stunned when he learns a bizarre turn of events has made him the new Giarl of Craigsmere. With a Gypsy’s warnings to “Beware the Mistress of Disguise,” Sar, his Terran wife Katy, and son Hatch embark on a journey as frightening as it is exhiliarating.

As Sar emerges into Arcanian society, his outspokenness, naivety, and provincial manners slowly but surely charm everyone around him, from the Craigsmere cook to the Margrave himself. At a ball given in his honor, he meets Meva du Thane, a predatory noblewoman determined to snare herself a rich husband. Only a giarl will do, and she sets her sights on Sar…and the fact that he already has a wife doesn’t matter at all…

Futuristic Romance

Sensuality rating: 2

Cover Art by Blaise Kilgallen


Cover of The Finer Gentleman by Icy Snow Blackstone
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Chapter 1

“Mistress Trant?”

“Yes?” Ladle in hand, Katy turned from the stew she was stirring to look at the young man standing in the doorway. For a moment, she wondered if she should’ve locked the front door, but cooking over a wood-burning stove was hot work and in her present condition, she needed all the fresh air she could get.

“Mistress Katherine Trant?” he persisted. “Legal consort of Sarkin Trant, owner of Three Moon Station?”

“I’m Sar’s wife. Yes.” Brushing back a strand of hair from her damp forehead, she smiled at his slightly odd phrasing. She had been startled at seeing a stranger after hearing the drone fly over and recognizing its distinctive whine as that of Eli Epson’s little Darter. When she heard footsteps in the yard and then crossing the porch, she’d expected the Federation marshal to appear, not someone seemingly intent on giving her a first-degree interrogation. “And you are…?”

“My apologies. Let me introduce myself. Anson lo Pitresca.” He took a step toward her, reaching into an inner pocket of his suit jacket and producing something, which he offered between thumb and forefinger. Katy took it, staring at a small business slide on which a hologram of the young man’s head and shoulders did a 360-degree spin for her viewing while a ribbon of letters scrolling on its surface informed her this was Anson lo

Pitresca, Prime Assistant to Wynn Barrette, Genealogist and Curator of the Royal Archives by Appointment from His Majesty, the Margrave of Arcanis. She studied it a

moment longer, then looked up at the young man again. He was of much more than average height but slender, good-looking though not in a spectacular way. He had blue eyes and sand-pale hair tied back sleekly in what was called a Shipman’s Club and which she would later learn was the style for upper class Arcanian men. Mentally, she compared him to both her husband and her stepson and thought his features as yet too young to have much character. Surely he wasn’t older than twenty. She smiled at that thought. At the age of twenty-two, and after all that had happened to her, Katy felt much older than the scant years separating her from this stranger. He was wearing a business suit, black and severely cut, its unaccented color emphasizing his fairness. The high-banded half-collar and lapels were cut wide across the chest, revealing an elaborately folded white ascot. Definitely a politico of some kind. Even if his card hadn’t announced it, Katy would have known. Only those in the highest levels of government wore ascots.

“I’m sorry to have been so brusque, Mistress Trant,” he went on, his blue gaze sweeping over her bulky figure in its loose maternity dress. She was startled to see what she thought was approval in his eyes. Pregnant and in her place in the kitchen, is that what he’s thinking?

“But I had to verify your identity.”

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