A Duke for All Seasons by Mia Marlowe

By Mia Marlowe

"Sebastian Blake, His Grace the Duke of Winterhaven, has a fixed rule in terms of mistresses. He by no means retains one longer than a flip of the season. yet he’s by no means met a girl as tempting as Arabella St. George…

A fiery operatic diva, Arabella is blackmailed into supporting the French. whilst she offers the envelope meant for a French murderer to the Duke of Winterhaven via mistake, she'll do whatever to retrieve it. whether she has to seduce him to do it...


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His expressive eyes mirrored her surprise. “You should be well now,” she whispered. ” He leaned closer and kissed her chastely on the cheek. ” The words escaped her lips without thought. The man brushed back her hair from her eyes and kissed her sweetly. She leaned closer into him and he deepened the kiss. She could taste the whiskey on his lips, and wondered if that was the cause of the intoxicating sensation coursing through her. Behind her the fire popped, casting flaming sparks. He jerked back and reached around her, beating out the burning embers that had fallen on the hem of her gown.

We’ll ne’er speak o’ it again. ” Heat crawled up the back of her neck. She was acutely aware of all the parts of her that were touching all the parts of him. Very wrong. Very nice. She went up on her toes and lightly gave him a peck on his lips. ” She scrunched her nose. ” She grabbed either side of his head and smashed her mouth to his. She came away breathless. It was the single boldest thing she had ever done with a man. “There! ” He looked up at the sky, considering. “Better, I grant ye.

It was more of a growl than a statement. “But I can see your legs,” she blurted, wishing she had held her tongue. “And I can see yers,” he retorted. ” Isabelle realized her gown had been rucked up to her thighs. She pushed down her skirts and struggled to stand. Her face burned from being caught in such a compromising position and from the memory of what had almost happened. “I should thank you,” Isabelle stammered, focusing on smoothing her ruined gown. The stranger shook his head. “I kenned ye were a Douglas lass or I woud’na troubled myself.

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