By Eloisa James
"One night's conceal may lead to a life of passion...
**A Mischievous Charade...**
Harriet, Duchess of Berrow, is uninterested in her identify and the tasks that come in addition to it. adequate with right tea events and stylish balls; what Harriet quite wishes is to wait an outrageous soiree the place she will be able to unharness her wildest whims and needs. yet to wait such an event—especially if the development in query is Lord Justinian Strange's rollicking fete, full of noble rogues and rotters, risqué women and illicit lovers—would ascertain scandal. That's why she needs to conceal herself . . .
Looking ahead to an evening of uninhibited excitement, Lord unusual is stunned to find that underneath the garments of a no-good rake is the main attractive girl within the room. Why is a girl like her risking her attractiveness at his infamous affair? and will he very likely attract her to stick . . . forever?
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Additional info for Duchess by Night (Desperate Duchesses, Book 3)
She glanced quickly at the old man and caught him smiling. Lawmaker cleared his throat, then nodded at the Scot. Grant stepped forward, and she fought the ridiculous urge to step back. He looked pointedly at her as he unsheathed the sword. His eyes were so cold, for a moment she thought he might use the weapon to slay her. What did she expect? This wedding was forced on him. The Scot hated her, and she knew he’d use that hate tonight in their bridal bed, much as Brodir had on many occasions. So be it.
He examined the delicately crafted silver brooch and marveled at the workmanship. For all their roughness, these islanders were excellent craftsmen. “Something I’ve had for years. It was Rika’s mother’s, in fact. ” George slipped the brooch into the small pouch at his waist and nodded. ” Lawmaker smiled like a cat who’d cornered a tasty field mouse. ” Rika turned into the courtyard and was not prepared for what she saw there. The whole of the village was assembled and fell silent when she appeared.
In fact, he’d been deep in his cups most every time he’d taken her. ” He turned to look at her, and she could tell from his expression he thought it a strange thing for her to say. Their eyes locked, and he let the fur slip from his waist. Thor’s blood! Grant was nothing like Brodir. Heat suffused her face as the Scot dispensed with his leggings and cast them aside. His eyes raked her up and down, and she braced herself for what would come next. He moved toward her in the firelight, and for the second time in as many days she was acutely aware of his size and strength.