The Duke's Perfect Wife (Mackenzies Series)
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Lady Eleanor Ramsay is the only one who knows the truth about Hart Mackenzie. Once his fiancee, she is the sole woman to whom he could ever pour out his heart.
Hart has it all--a dukedom, wealth, power, influence, whatever he desires. Every woman wants him--his seductive skills are legendary. But Hart has sacrificed much to keep his brothers safe, first from their brutal father, and then from the world. He's also suffered loss--his wife, his infant son, and the woman he loved with all his heart though he realized it too late.
Now, Eleanor has reappeared on Hart's doorstep, with scandalous nude photographs of Hart taken long ago. Intrigued by the challenge in her blue eyes--and aroused by her charming, no-nonsense determination--Hart wonders if his young love has come to ruin him . . . or save him.
Book Four of the Highland Pleasures (Mackenzies) series.
Hart’s oldest friends and political cronies. When Hart had begun courting Eleanor, David had declared himself in love with Eleanor as well—openly and without shame. To his credit, he’d never tried to interfere with the courtship or steal Eleanor from Hart, but after Eleanor had broken the engagement, David had rushed to Glenarden and asked Eleanor to marry him. Eleanor had given him a polite, but firm, no. She liked David, and she’d continued on friendly terms with him, but he enjoyed drinking
the country.” Neely perked up at the mention of a title. “If this lady would be so kind?” David stuck his cigar back into his mouth, and Hart gave him an irritated glance. While Eleanor acknowledged that many women of her class married to make social or financial connections, she might not be best pleased at being asked to introduce the prissy and snobbish Neely to one of her friends. “I have to caution you,” Hart said to Neely, “that even were Lady Eleanor to agree to help, whether the young
held it up to him. Duke of Kilmorgan narrowly escapes with his life! Shots fired outside Parliament. Have the Fenians found a new target? “How the devil did that rag get into the house?” Hart growled. “Mac?” Mac looked innocent, but Eleanor’s face was bright with rage. “You lied to me when I asked how you hurt yourself. You said it wasn’t important. How could you? You were nearly killed.” Hart touched his face where the cuts were fading. “It isn’t important. The man was a terrible shot, and I
with the photographs?” Had Hart told Joanna to send them? It would be like him, to confound and tease Eleanor with the photographs and at the same time pretend he cared nothing about them. Hart Mackenzie needed a good talking to. “No, no,” Joanna said. “Them’s two separate things. If you’ll listen, Your Grace, I’ll explain.” Eleanor nodded, curbing her impatience. “Yes, indeed. Please do.” “Blame my forwardness on me upbringing, Your Grace. I grew up in London, in the east part of it, near
“We’ve not been here above half an hour yet.” Avoiding more tiresome arguments had only been part of it. Hart had had the sudden and overwhelming urge to be alone with Eleanor, and Mac’s town house, where they were staying the night, was too far away. “Now that I do have you alone,” Eleanor said, “I will tell you that it was Joanna who sent me the photographs.” Hart stopped, surprised. “Did she? Where did she get them? Stolen from Mrs. Palmer?” If Joanna had somehow found those ridiculous