Courtney Milan, Carolyn Jewel, Sherry Thomas
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Welcome to Doyle's Grange, a charming house near the hills of Exmoor, where the garden is beautiful in every season, and the residents are respectable year-round.
Except when the clock strikes midnight...
One Starlit Night, by Carolyn Jewel
Ten years away from Doyle's Grange isn't quite long enough for Viscount Northword to forget Portia Temple, or their passionate adolescent affair. Portia, however, is about to marry another man. Northword tells himself it is wrong to interfere in her life at this late hour, but interfere he cannot help, with his words, his body, and the truths of his heart.
What Happened at Midnight, by Courtney Milan
Fleeing the consequences of her father's embezzlement, Mary Chartley takes a position as a lady's companion, only to find herself a virtual prisoner at Doyle's Grange, her employer's house. And then the nightmare truly begins: the man she loves, who also happens to be the man from whom her father stole, shows up at her door seeking recompense. And not merely in pound sterling...
A Dance in Moonlight, by Sherry Thomas
After losing her childhood sweetheart to another woman, Isabelle Englewood is heartsick. But then something remarkable happens: Upon arriving at Doyle's Grange, her new home, she meets Ralston Fitzwilliam, who looks almost exactly like the man she cannot have. Come late at night, she tells him, so I can make love to you pretending that you are the one I love.
Little does she realize what she is about to unleash...
telling him no? The insult pricked him. Dented his pride. More, though, it scared the hell out of him. “Why not?” “Is it wise?” “Yes, damn it, it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” Magnus shook his head. The urge to spear him with a look of blue-blooded incredulity was impossible to resist. “I’d be a better husband to her than that doughty old poet she’s going to marry so you and Eleanor can make a life together.” Magnus’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that what she told you?” “Not in so many words, but it’s
fingers angled downward. “She did the same to me once, but I poured it all in the slop bowl. She nearly came to tears. Poor Magnus.” “Poor me. You’re not naked yet.” He let go of her hand and fumbled at her shift while he kissed her, open mouthed, tongue involved. She kissed him back because Portia never did anything half way. Her shift dropped to the floor with the rest of their clothes. If Satan himself demanded his soul for this, he’d gladly hand it over. “I want you in my arms. I want us
place. “It must have been a number of years since Lord Fitzhugh married his heiress,” Mr. Fitzwilliam went on. “Does it still matter so much to you?” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “I came back from India not long ago. Fitz and his wife had always lived in a platonic marriage. So when he and I met again, for the first time in eight years, we decided that we would pick up our old dreams where they had fallen apart.” How she missed those first sweet moments of their reunion, when
here. Winters are harsh in Scotland.” “Aberdeen’s is milder than one would expect for a city so far north, or so my sister assures me.” “Still, it will be cold and dreary. Bring them here. They will thank you.” But if she were to set up household at Doyle’s Grange, soon her entire family would come by to visit. There would be calls on the neighbors, afternoon tea parties, and dinners to make sure that she was surrounded by kind people. And when they saw Mr. Fitzwilliam, after picking their
aluminum, shiny, but easily dented. The bond between her and Mr. Fitzwilliam had been forged from far stronger materials, a steel that had been tried by fire. “Isabelle—” “Please, Louise, don’t say anything else.” Her head was beginning to pound. “I will ask Mr. Fitzwilliam to call on us tomorrow. You will be able to see for yourself what he is and who he isn’t.” “That is not a good idea. The meeting will make him believe he is more accepted by the family than he is.” “Then you will pass