The Devil Wears Kilts (Scandalous Highlanders)
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"It's time to fall in love with Suzanne Enoch." ―Lisa Kleypas
The Price of Passion…
On a mission to rescue his runaway sister from the lure of flowery compliments and a useless lot of satin-clad scalawags disguised by their snooty titles, Ranulf MacLawry, Marquis of Glengask, has roared into British society like a storm across the Scottish Highlands. But he's about to find out that satin has its appeal, especially when it covers the curves of Miss Lady Charlotte Hanover―whose tongue is as sharp as her skin is soft...
…is Pure Pleasure
Lady Charlotte Hanover has had her fill of hot-headed men, having lost her fiancé in an utterly unnecessary duel. When did brawn ever triumph over brains? And yet there is something solid and appealing about the brash Highlander who's as dangerous in the ballroom as in battle. Sometimes bigger really is better… in The Devil Wears Kilts.
"Always an eagerly anticipated pleasure." ―Christina Dodd
punching, ye especially.” That was an insult, of course, but she thought she understood the reason for it. This man standing before her, gazing at her, close enough to touch, was the nearest thing to a king that could be found in Scotland these days. He had enemies. Scottish—Highland—enemies who shot each other on the front steps of their own houses. Stupid, avoidable, prideful violence, more than likely over something no one remembered any longer. “I should discuss this with my father,” she
when he clearly had more trouble than he could wish for on his hands. * * * Jane tugged Charlotte into the morning room and gestured at the floor. “Help,” she said with a laugh. She and Winnie had laid out every invitation they’d received, for breakfasts, luncheons, recitals, picnics, dinners, the theater, soirees, and even a proposed excursion in rowboats up the Thames. Seeing them all arranged by date and time like that, the sheer volume was stunning. “What do you need help with?” she
you.” Ranulf hugged her back tightly. “What are ye thanking me fer, lass? I know ye havenae forgotten the brawl at the Evanstone soiree.” “I don’t know,” she returned with a short laugh, straightening again to wipe at her eyes. “I suppose because you’re still here, at all. And because I’m still here.” “I gave ye my word, piuthar.” He refrained from reminding her that she’d sworn never to leave damned London; one thing at a time. A figure in a yellow gown entered the room, but he let out the
bidding. Don’t cause too much of a ruckus, either of ye.” Charlotte chuckled as he led her through the foyer and out the front door to his waiting barouche. “Your poor brother. You’ve just sentenced him to go hair ribbon shopping.” Ranulf shrugged as he helped her into the open carriage. “Arran’s accustomed to it. According to Rowena, he’s the only brother with taste other than in his mouth.” “I don’t know about that. You look very fine this afternoon.” “I’ll tell bloo—black-hearted Smith the
returned. “Lover, sweetheart—all of those things.” “You might have told me that before.” “I didnae want to scare ye away, lass.” Charlotte grinned back at him. “Words don’t frighten me.” She had the right of that. “What aboot a blizzard so harsh the snow falls sideways?” he asked. “Would that frighten ye?” “That depends,” she replied “Am I inside by a fire or at least wrapped in a warm coat, or am I standing in the middle of the snow in nothing but my night rail?” “A roaring fire in a