To Desire a Wicked Duke (Courtship Wars, Book 6)($7.68Value)

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Passion ignites in Nicole Jordan’s delectable, dazzling conclusion to The Courtship Wars .   Two years after losing her beloved fiancé to war, Tess Blanchard feels ready to chance love again. Thus she’s aghast when a threatening scandal forces her to wed her longtime nemesis, Ian Sutherland, Duke of Rotham. The impossibly arrogant, irresistibly seductive nobleman is the last man Tess could ever imagine loving. Making matters worse, she discovers secrets in Rotham’s wicked past that send her fleeing London for his remote castle in Cornwall. Having long desired Tess, Ian is exasperated that the ton thinks he’s driven his reluctant new bride from their marriage bed and follows hard on her heels. Naturally, their spirited rivalry leads to glorious, pleasure-filled nights—complicated by a mysterious ghost who haunts Ian’s castle and Tess’s vexing insistence that he play matchmaker to her friends. But can blazing desire between two warring hearts turn into wedded bliss and timeless love? “A provocative page-turner brimming with sensuality and wit. Nicole Jordan charms and captivates.”—Jillian Hunter Nicole Jordan is the New York Times bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She lives with her real-life hero (her husband) in the Rocky Mountains of Utah, where she is at work on her next enthralling tale about the sparks that fly when Regency lovers play the matrimonial mating game. Chapter One Although I have been off the Marriage Mart a good while now, I am quickly relearning an indisputable rule of engagement with the opposite sex: When you play with fire, you are likely to be burned . . . and Rotham is the hottest sort of fire. —Diary Entry of Miss Tess Blanchard Richmond, England; October 1817 The kiss was amazingly insipid. Disappointment surged through Tess Blanchard as Mr. Hennessy drew her more fully into his embrace. She had expected so much more when she acquiesced to his impulsive gesture. More excitement, more pleasure, more feeling. In short, she had secretly longed to be swept away by romantic passion. Instead she found herself logically analyzing the construction of his lovemaking. The precise pressure of his lips. The exact angle of his head. The unarousing feel of his arms around her. There was no spark, no fire between them at all, Tess realized sorrowfully. The entire business left her remarkably cold. Oh, Patrick Hennessy certainly seemed skilled in the art of kissing, she mused as his mouth plied hers with increased ardor. But surely a man who counted himself such an expert lover should have elicited a stronger response from her? Not that she had much basis for comparison. This was only the second man she had ever romantically embraced in her three-and-twenty years. It had happened purely on a whim. One moment they were laughing together over a line in the comic play Hennessy had written. The next, an arrested expression claimed his features as he gazed down at her. When he stepped closer and bent his head to capture her lips, Tess had no thought of stopping him. For too long she had let herself languish on the shelf in the game of love, refusing to open herself up to renewed heartbreak. But it was past time to reenter the lists. Admittedly, in Mr. Hennessy she was drawn by both curiosity and the lure of the forbidden. She knew better, of course. A proper lady did not indulge in scandalous experiments with libertine actors behind the stage curtains. Hennessy was known as something of a Lothario among the London theater crowd, although in addition to being a brilliant performer, he was also a successful manager of his own troupe, a budding playwright, and the talented director of Tess’s two recent benefit concerts, which had raised vast sums for her charities. Then again, perhaps she was not giving him a fair chance. Closing her eyes more tightly, Tess made a stronger effort to enter into the spirit of the kiss. In response, Hennessy’s hand stole lower down her back, over her derrière, to pull her closer. Despite her own lack of enthusiasm, she had evidently affected him, judging by the swelling hardness she felt pressing against her lower abdomen— “Well, well, are you practicing to play the part of lovers in your production, Miss Blanchard?” At the sharp-edged drawl, a startled Tess tore her mouth away from Hennessy’s—and froze in mortification upon recognizing that sardonic male voice. Obviously she had failed to hear anyone enter the ballroom where their makeshift stage was erected. Good Lord, what utterly dreadful timing, to have her transgression discovered by the arrogant, infuriating Duke of Rotham, elder cousin of her late betrothed. Rotham had stepped behind the stage curtains to find her locked in a clandestine embrace with the man she had hired to produce her amateur theatrical. Scalding heat flooded Tess’s cheeks as she pulled away from her partner in crime. Hennessy had also reacted to the duke’s unexpected appearance by releasing her instantly. Ye