Bartholomew Yancy never intended to take a wife. But the earldom he inherited changed everything. Now, as Earl of Ramsbury and last of his line, he’s obligated to resign his position as England’s War Secretary, find a wife, and produce an heir—in that order. It’s just his unfortunate luck that the enchanting Scotswoman he wants to marry is entirely…disinterested.
Isobel Ferguson had all but abandoned hope of finding a husband in the Highlands. Men here—just like men everywhere else—only seemed to fancy her appearance, not her intellect. She’s sure the disarmingly attractive Yancy is no different. If he thinks she’ll fall prey to a notorious rake like him, he’s severely underestimated her.
But when a case of mistaken identity and an abduction gone wrong lands her in a compromising situation, marrying Yancy might be the only way to salvage her damaged reputation.
And so, the battle of wills begins…
Genre: FICTION / Romance / Historical
2017 Finalist Uncaged Book Reviews Raven Award - Favorite Cover
The Romance Reviews Readers Choice Nominee
2016 RONE Nominee
Isobel wheeled around and wound up planting her face squarely in a very masculine chest.
“Oh!” She leaped backward reflexively. Her heel caught on the cloak’s hem, and she tilted at a precarious angle.
Simply fabulous.
She flailed her arms, and her possessions clattered to the stable floor
Lord Ramsbury rushed forward, grasping her shoulders just as her feet left the ground.
Eyes locked on his, she seized his coat lapels, frantically trying to stay upright.
His eyes widened in alarmed surprise when he teetered toward her.
Too late.
Lord Ramsbury’s solid form toppled onto her and mashed her into the rough wood. Eyes closed and surrounded by his sheer male essence, she waited for sharp pain to stab her. Tentatively, prepared to cease at the slightest discomfort, she wiggled her fingers and toes.
No pain. Nothing broken then.
She tried to pull in a deep breath, but his weight bore down upon her chest. Gads, how much did his lordship weigh?
She opened her eyes. Silky, whisky-colored hair tickled her nose. A clean virile scent, with a hint of sandalwood, hovered over him. He smelled wonderful, and she had the oddest urge to nuzzle her nose in his hair.
She noiselessly sniffed instead.
Mmm, heavenly.
Did he twitch the merest bit?
Lord Ramsbury’s chest squashed her breasts nearly flat, and his lean hips were nestled between her thighs. For certain her backside and shoulders would sport a bruise or two.
Lifting her head, she winced. Ah, that stung. She wriggled her fingers, attempting to poke him. Why didn’t he get off? A gentleman would have, but he had already proved he didn’t deserve that title.
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Regiane Moreira
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Spanish
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Unavailable for translation.
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