Temptation is as old as Adam and Eve. Unfortunately, succumbing to it is as natural as breathing to the gentlemen in the haut ton. For prospective brides bent on fidelity, three of the ton’s most ravishing beauties will help determine the faithful from the philanderers. What they hadn’t counted on was emotional entanglements…

One dance with Lord Blake Sinclair and Olivia Wakefield knows she’s in the kind of trouble that has no limit to its breadth or scope. The handsome lord is said to charm women out of their gowns with a mere curve of his lips. Her betrothal party—to another man—is neither the place nor time for Olivia to realize Lord Sinclair is the only man for her. But if her recent exploits have taught her anything is that settling is a life half lived and she plans to live hers to the fullest.

The scandal that follows her broken betrothal and hasty wedding is nothing compared to discovering that Blake doesn’t love her. He married her to even a score. For revenge. Olivia now finds herself trapped in precisely the sort of marriage—one that eschews love, trust and fidelity—she’s long sought to prevent.


Release Date To Be Announced


The Temptresses Book 3

Other Books in the Series

Olivia rang the doorbell before her nerves sent her scrambling back to the carriage, which would not be like her at all. She didn’t run from such things.

No sooner had her finger pressed the bell did it open. Light poured out over her from the entryway beyond. An older woman—undoubtedly the housekeeper—peered at her at first through narrowed eyes, until they widened in a rather dramatic fashion, her hand splayed and flying to the base of her neck. Her mouth opened but the only sound that emerged was a whisper of a gasp.

The woman recognized her, of that Olivia had no doubt. It certainly wasn’t surprising as she and Blake had been the talk of the town for the past several months. The wedding had been a grand affair at St. George. Sketches of her dominated the newspapers and gossip sheets.

“My lord,” the woman said, her voice high and shrill with alarm.

“Gertrude, is there a problem?” The familiar masculine voice came first, a moment later Blake emerged from one of the rooms off the hallway, a slender dark-haired woman wrapped about him like a limp dishrag.

In that infinitesimal moment before he saw her, Rebecca saw him—truly saw him. Gone was the pristine Marquess of Carlisle, all rigid morality. His dark hair was tousled, he had a half day’s growth shadowing his jaw, his waistcoat was unbuttoned, he wasn’t wearing his jacket and around his neck hung his unloosened blue silk necktie.

Even from this distance, which was a dozen feet or more, Olivia could make out the smudge of red on his lips and right cheekbone. He looked earthy and infinitely corruptible.  And it appeared he was on the verge of that very corruption or in the process of doing the corrupting.

For a moment she could only stare at his handsome face and into his blue eyes. The sound of her beating heart pounded loudly in her ears, but the pain of it breaking robbed her clean of her next breath.

Olivia didn’t know how long she stood stock-still taking in the scene as only someone in her position could but she saw the precise moment Maxwell recognized her. Realized the situation he was in.

“I was going to inquire whether my husband was here,” she stated in neutral, calm voice she conjured up from she knew not where. “But I can see that he is.” With that she turned and took the three stairs of the de terre and accepted the footman’s hand as he assisted her back into her husband’s barouche.

For all intents and purposes, her marriage was over. She was going home.

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