Three Little Secrets
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National bestselling author Liz Carlyle concludes her scandalous new trilogy with a sensuous novel of two star-crossed souls who share a secret or two . . . or three.
Once upon a time, they eloped. But then dashing Scotsman Merrick MacLachlan accepted payment from Lady Madeleine's father to have the marriage annulled. Or did he?
Two times, Maddie has wed. Once for love, once for comfort. Yet once more she is alone with only her beloved son and his haunting visions for company. Until fate thrusts her back into the arms of her first love.
Three little secrets dance between them. One is that he desires her as much as ever; another is that she's never forgotten his touch. But the scars of their youthful passion run deep, and the third secret will either mark their undoing . . . or spark the sizzling reunion they dare not dream of.
game.” Looking very pleased, the girl went to a burnished wooden box on the bookcase and returned with a pack of cards. “First I shall tell Geoff’s fortune,” she said, pulling a small game table to the center of the room. “Nonna Sofia taught me how to lay out the cards.” “Sofia is Catherine’s mother-in-law,” Helene explained to Madeleine as Geoff helped unfold the tabletop. “And something of a mischievous old crone, too. My husband thinks her quite mad.” Madeleine was intrigued. “And what does
simply been too young. Like many girls of her class and age, Madeleine, he had come to realize, had simply been in love with the notion of love. After living the life of a bored little rich girl in the country, she had come to Town ready for a bit drama. She had wished to be swept off her feet. And he, foolishly, had wielded the broom. He was almost grateful when the boy spoke, his voice tentative as he looked up at Madeleine. “Mamma, are you angry with me?” Merrick watched Madeleine’s hands
like Methuselah’s great-uncle. He moved swiftly away, wondering at the sensibilities of today’s youth. Then he recalled with some discomfort that seventeen—and barely that—was the age at which Madeleine had agreed to marry him. He turned around, and looked at the chit again. Good God, she was a child. And damned if there wasn’t a distinct resemblance to Madeleine. Treyhern’s girl was a fetching little thing—tall and slender, with hair the color of summer cornsilk. Her features were pretty and
And what had it to do with the Rutledge chit? Or Geoff? Or Madeleine, come to that? Something, damn it. Something. What was it Geoff had said to the girl to start this row in the first place? That her father was dead. On its face, it sounded like a macabre thing to say, especially when one blurted it out for no discernible reason. Madeleine had said, too hopefully, that perhaps it was simple teasing. Lady Treyhern had claimed that Geoff was known to have “strange notions.” Treyhern’s brother had
looks alike—which just goes to show that he is a fine builder, yet not an architect. You were acclaimed as a genius before you’d built so much as a watchman’s box.” “All a decade and a half past,” said Merrick. “In the world of architectural design, Wynwood, one must be a starving artist to win such acclaim. Once you are rich, that is thought to be reward enough.” “Ah!” Wynwood’s tone was disconcertingly insightful. “And is it?” Merrick hesitated but a heartbeat. “Aye, you’re damned right it