Excerpt: My Forbidden Duchess
Book Three: The Man Of My Dreams
The man of her dreams…
A shiver coursed through Marguerite at the memory she harbored of a tall strapping man with hair as black as night who had appeared out of the shadows to come to her aid in Roscoff, Brittany, after she, Linette, and Estelle had been abducted by wicked men.
A man so strikingly handsome Marguerite had lost her breath to look at him…or perhaps it was because he had squeezed her hand as if to reassure her after one evil captor was dead and his two accomplices fled. Even now she could still feel the warm, strong pressure of his fingers enveloping hers…and then he was gone, fading back into the shadows as quickly as he and his companions had come.
Only weeks later had they found out that their brave rescuers were Jared Giles and his men from the infamous Vengeance, including his second-in-command named Walker Burke.
The same Walker Burke who everyone knew now was the future Duke of Summerlin, thanks to Lord Donovan’s dogged help in restoring him to his rightful family and procuring royal pardons for him and Lord Dovercourt. Would Walker—no, Alexander Scott—have arrived in England yet to assume his new role as the duke’s last surviving son? If word had come for Donovan, Corie had not yet shared the news with them—
“Marguerite, you’re blushing!” Linette had once again looped her arm through Marguerite’s and grinned broadly at her. “You do have a man of your dreams—”
“I do not! And you’re too young yet to even be thinking of such things, Linette Easton! Now we’ll miss dinner if we don’t hurry. Come on, I’ll race you!”
She was blushing, Marguerite couldn’t deny it, feeling flushed from her scalp to her toes as she set off at a run across the gorse-covered heath toward where they’d tethered their horses. A laughing Linette was hard upon her heels, their reckless pace and skirts hiked above their knees most unladylike, but Marguerite didn’t care.
Anything to dispel thoughts of the humiliation she’d suffered in London…and of the stirring touch of a man who, as a future duke now, she doubted would scarcely look twice at her.
If he even remembered her at all.