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The New York Times bestselling author of Rules for a Proper Governess returns with an engrossing tale that promises to delight lovers of Outlander . 1745, Scotland: The youngest son of the scandalous Mackenzie family, Malcolm is considered too wild to tame...until he meets a woman who is too unattainable to resist. Lady Mary Lennox is English, her father highly loyal to the king, and promised to another Englishman. But despite it being forbidden to speak to Malcolm, Lady Mary is fascinated by the Scotsman, and stolen moments together lead to a passion greater than she'd ever dreamed of finding. When fighting breaks out between the Highlanders and the King's army, their plans to elope are thwarted, and it will take all of Malcolm's daring as a Scottish warrior to survive the battle and steal a wife out from under the noses of the English.
Praise for the Mackenzie series
“Skillfully nuanced characterization and an abundance of steamy sensuality.”—Chicago Tribune
“Heartrending, funny, honest, and true… I want to marry the hero!”—Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author
“A sexy, passion-filled romance that will keep you reading until dawn.”—Julianne MacLean, USA Today bestselling author
Auteur
Jennifer Ashley
Texte du rabat
The New York Times bestselling author of Rules for a Proper Governess returns with an engrossing tale that promises to delight lovers of Outlander.
1745, Scotland: The youngest son of the scandalous Mackenzie family, Malcolm is considered too wild to tame...until he meets a woman who is too unattainable to resist.
Lady Mary Lennox is English, her father highly loyal to the king, and promised to another Englishman. But despite it being forbidden to speak to Malcolm, Lady Mary is fascinated by the Scotsman, and stolen moments together lead to a passion greater than she'd ever dreamed of finding.
When fighting breaks out between the Highlanders and the King's army, their plans to elope are thwarted, and it will take all of Malcolm's daring as a Scottish warrior to survive the battle and steal a wife out from under the noses of the English.
Échantillon de lecture
Chapter One
Edinburgh, 1745
“Mm, what sweet morsel is that?”
Mal Mackenzie, youngest of five brothers, called at various times in his life Young Malcolm, the Devil Mackenzie, and would ye get out of it, ye pain in my arse—the last mostly by his father and oldest brother—voiced the words as the tedious gathering suddenly grew more interesting.
The morsel was a young woman. What else would it be, with Mal?
“Oh, aye,” his brother Alec muttered as he leaned against the wall, in a foul temper. “Of course ye’d notice the prettiest lass in the room. The most untouchable as well.”
The lady in question glided through the drawing room on the arm of a man who must be her father. She wore a gown of rich material much like those of other young women here, but she stood out among them like a fiery bloom among weeds.
They were paraded, these ladies, laced into bodices and tight stomachers that showed a soft enticement of bosom, skirts swaying as they moved. They walked with eyes downcast to indicate what demure creatures they were—suitable wives for the bachelors, young and old, who’d come to view them.
Malcolm’s lady, in contrast, had her head up, smiling at all, though the smile was somewhat strained. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
She had red-gold hair that caught the candlelight as she passed beneath the chandeliers. Mal couldn’t see the color of her eyes from where he stood, but he was certain they’d be clearest blue. Or green. Or gray.
She noted Malcolm staring at her and paused for the briefest moment, the smile fading. Mal, who’d been leaning next to Alec, pushed from the cold stone wall to stand up straight, fires weaving through his nerves.
The young woman took him in—a tall, rawboned Scotsman in a fine coat, dressed like an Englishman except for the plaid that covered his legs to his knees. Malcolm prided himself in not looking entirely like these English whelps—he’d pulled his thick brown-red hair into a queue instead of stuffing it under a powdered cocoon-like wig, and had tied his neckcloth in a loose knot.
The young woman’s gaze met his, and the answering sparkle in her eyes woke every sense in Mal’s body.
Then she turned her head, looking past him as she scanned the crowd for someone else.
The moment, as fleeting as it had been, reached out and wrapped itself around him. The tendrils of something inevitable entangled the being that was Malcolm Mackenzie, changing everything.
Malcolm all but shoved an elbow into Alec, who was pretending to be interested in the interaction of the English and Scottish elite. “Who is she?” Mal demanded.
Alec moodily studied the crowd. “The blond lass, you mean?”
“Her hair’s not blond.” Mal tilted his head as though that could help him look under her modest lace cap. “’Tis the color of sunshine, tinged with the fire of sunset.”
“If you say so.” Alec, two years older and one of a pair of twins, gave Mal a warning look. “She’s not for you, runt.”
Runt was another name for Malcolm, who’d begun life very small, but now topped most of his brothers and his father by at least an inch.
The words not for you never deterred Mal. “Why shouldn’t she be?”
“Shall I run a list for ye?” Alec asked in irritation. “She is Lady Mary Lennox, daughter of the Earl of Wilfort. Wilfort has an estate as big as this city, more money than God, and power and influence in the cabinet. The family is one of the oldest in England—I think his ancestor fought alongside Henry the Fifth, or some such. All of which makes his daughter out of reach of the youngest son of a Scotsman with what the English claim is a trumped-up title. Not only that, she’s engaged to another English lordship, so keep your large paws to yourself.”
“Huh,” Malcolm said, not worried in the least. “Poor little morsel.”
Mal followed Lady Mary’s progress through the room, noting the polite way she greeted her father’s friends and the mothers of the other daughters. Correct, well trained—like a pedigreed horse brought in to demonstrate what a sweet-tempered creature it could be.
Malcolm saw more than that—the restless twitch of her eyes as she searched the room while pretending not to, the trembling of a ribbon on the red-gold curls at the back of her neck.
She was vibrancy contained, a creature of light and vigor straining at the tethers that held her. At any moment, the shell of her respectability would crack, and her incandescence would spill out.
Did no one but Mal see? Those around her smiled and spoke comfortably to her, as though they liked her, but their reactions were subdued, as were hers to them.
This was not her stage, not where she would shine. She needed to be free of this place, these enclosing walls. Out on the open heather maybe, in the Highlands of Mal’s home, Kilmorgan, in the north. Her vibrancy wouldn’t be swallowed there, but allowed to glow.
And she’d be with him, the layers of her clothing coming off in his hands, the warmth of her body rising to him. This woman belonged in Mal Mackenzie’s bed, and he intended to take her there.
It would be a grand challenge. Lady Mary was surrounded, protected. Her father and the matrons circled her like guard dogs, to keep wolves like Mal at bay.
Mal made…