Five weeks!
Yes, just over five weeks and Triumph and Treasure (Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series) releases.
Don’t forget about the $10.00 Amazon gift card giveaway.
Answer the question at the bottom of the post and share or tweet and you’ll be entered in the giveaway.
Be sure to leave your email address so I can notify you if you win!
To get the latest news subscribe to my email list, newsletter, and like my Facebook page.
I have to tell you, I’m still chuckling about some fellows over on Google+ who got their knickers in a twist because on the book’s cover, Flynn isn’t wearing a kilt.
That’s because the heroine in this story is the Scot, not the hero.
I should have the pre-order link for you soon!
~ ~ ~
Moments after Grandmamma scuffed from the room, Flynn heard her offer the duke a congenial greeting.
If she knew the truth, she would soundly whack the bounder on his nob with her cane. And then kick him in the bum after he hit the floor.
The image brought a faint arc to Flynn’s lips.
“Your Grace.” Chatterton indicated the duke should enter. “Shall I request a tray from Mrs. Plum?”
Flynn closed the Lambridge ledger. He stacked the record atop the others. “No, His Grace won’t be staying long.”
“Very good, my lord.”
With a glower of contempt directed at the rear of Waterford’s head, Chatterton backed out, not quite closing the double doors behind him.
Ah, so the staff was aware of the change in Flynn’s circumstances. No surprise there. It would have been easier to drain the River Thames than hide the truth from the servants. Almost as protective of the women as he, his loyal retainers wouldn’t breathe a word to Mother or the others.
Since coming into his majority and becoming a regular attendee at haut ton assemblies, Flynn couldn’t recall speaking more than a handful of words to Waterford. The man’s unmatched arrogance and condescending mien were off-putting.
Flynn shifted his attention to the duke and took his measure.
Thinning auburn hair topped His Grace’s head, and he’d developed a distinct paunch. Excess drink tended to do that. Bags cradled his watery, bloodshot eyes, and fine red veins laced his bulbous nose. Recognizing him as the handsome man once Father’s closest friend, proved difficult.
Had Father ever told Waterford why he severed his friendship? The duke must have an inkling. News of Franny’s tragedy had circulated amongst the upper salons.
Confidence in his step, the duke strode into the study. The cocksure set of his head and shoulders suggested he thought he had Flynn at a disadvantage.
And he bloody well did, God rot the pompous cull.
To be entered in the December 3rd gift card drawing, answer this question in the comments below:
What would Grandmamma do if she knew the truth?
Copyright © 2014 Collette Cameron
