by Vivienne Lorret
Series: The Rakes of Fallow Hall #3
Pub. Date: July 14, 2015
Publisher: Avon Impulse
Genre: Historical Romance
The Rakes of Fallow Hall wagered that they would never succumb to love—yet in Vivienne Lorret's newest novel, the final rogue meets his match.
Frances Thorne can handle anything—except losing her position, her home, and her father to debtor's prison all in one day. So when a generous offer of assistance falls into her lap, she's grateful for a second chance, even if it seems too good to be true. The last thing she needs is for the charming, infuriating—maddening—Lord Lucan Montwood to stand in her way.
The end of the bachelors' wager is near, and Lucan Montwood can taste victory—just so long as he can stay away from the one woman who sees through his façade. Yet when he learns that Frances has been caught in an insidious trap, Lucan can't deny that he will do anything to help. Convincing her to trust him is the hard part, resisting her is next to impossible, but falling in love with her? That may be far too simple.
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author VIVIENNE LORRET loves romance novels, her pink laptop, her husband, and her two sons (not necessarily in that order ... but there are days). Transforming copious amounts of tea into words, she is proud to be an Avon Impulse author of works including: “Tempting Mr. Weatherstone”, The Wallflower Wedding Series, and the Rakes of Fallow Hall series.
“Perhaps I want my fortune told,” she said, her focus on the feel of his warm flesh against hers. She turned her wrist, shifting slightly to thread her fingers through his until they were palm to palm. The rough callused pads below his fingers elicited tingles through her body. A sense of longing stirred. It had been nearly a week since he’d last touched her. Until now, she hadn’t realized how desperately she’d missed the contact.
Lucan tightened his grip. In that small gesture, he revealed so much. Perhaps he’d missed touching her as well. Then, stepping in front of her, he reached down for her other hand and lifted it. He turned her wrist so that her palm faced his gaze. But he wasn’t looking at her hand. He was looking at her. There was not enough light to illuminate the amber in his irises. That must have been why they appeared dark, rimmed only with a thin halo of pale color. His thumb stroked the dewy surface of her palm, eliciting spears of pleasure along every nerve inside her.
“I see a long life of passion.” Lifting her hand higher, his mouth took the place of his thumb, his gaze never leaving hers. The tip of his tongue traced the long horizontal line directly above the hollow of her palm. His teeth scraped the fleshy pad above.
She inhaled sharply. Her body clenched in a swift but almost sweet pain. A steady, throbbing pulse forced her to press her thighs together. Yet what she really wanted was to feel him . . . there.