An Improper Duchess

By Amanda McCabe

Katrina McLeod fled an arranged marriage, decreed by King James of Scotland, to a man with a fearful reputation, only to find herself on trial for her life! Accused of witchcraft, her salvation lies in the hands of brooding nobleman Duncan Rothmore…. When Duncan saves Katrina from a grisly fate in exchange for warming his bed, he has no idea she is really an untouched, high–born lady. He knows only that she stirs something in his wounded heart and afflicted body that no other woman ever has. But if he wishes to make Katrina his bride, Duncan must betray his king.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jan 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781460893173

Amanda McCabe

Amanda McCabe wrote her first romance at sixteen – an historical epic starring her friends as the characters, written secretly during algebra class! She's never since used algebra, but her books have been nominated for many awards, including the RITA Award, Booksellers Best, National Readers Choice Award and the Holt Medallion. In her spare time she loves taking dance classes and collecting travel souvenirs. Amanda lives in New Mexico. Email her at: [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter One

Blast it all, Melisande! Why will you never listen to me? When will you start to have a care for your family and not just yourself?

Melisande, the Dowager Duchess of Gifford (though at thirty-three years of age, she felt a bit ridiculous to be a dowager), sat back in her chair and watched as her brother Charles, Lord Litton, furiously paced the length of her drawing room. A wide, angry gesture of his arm almost sent a tall Chinese vase toppling, and he shoved a delicate gilded French chair out of his way. As he was a tall, strongly muscled man who rode and hunted whenever he could, the chair went crashing to the Aubusson rug.

Melisande sighed. She was quite fond of that chair. She knew she should have moved all the daintier pieces when her brother sent word he was coming, but she hadn’t been able to summon the needed energy. She’d been out late last night, to the theater and then a ball, and a sharp headache still lingered behind her eyes.

And Charlie was not making her feel any better. His constant pacing, his angry words, which she’d heard so many times before, made her feel quite dizzy.

How lovely to see you, too, Charlie, she said. And what brings you to my house so bright and early? Aren’t you and Louise and the children usually out taking a brisk walk at this hour?

Charlie whirled around and stalked back toward her. "It is hardly early at all, as you would know if you had returned home at a decent hour last night."

I returned home when most of London does. Right before the sun came up. How would you know when I came in? It’s been many years since we lived in the same household, after all.

Since she was eighteen and married the duke—a man much older than herself with nearly grown children. For the good of her family.

I know because word is already spreading of what you did at the Trate ball last night! Charlie shouted. Melisande winced and closed her eyes. That you and Lady Trate and Mrs. Whitely danced barefoot on the grass, despite the terrible cold weather, because you were pretending to be the Three Graces or some such nonsense.

Melisande laughed at the somewhat blurry memory. It had indeed been terribly cold in Lady Trate’s garden, but no one seemed to mind. Oh, yes. And Freddy Mountbank insisted he would act as Paris, but he was too foxed to remember most of the myth, and he fell into the Trates’ fountain. Luckily it was mostly frozen through. So amusing.

It was not amusing! It was embarrassing in the extreme. Lord Milton himself asked me about it when I saw him in the park this morning. And Louise is supposed to have tea with his wife this afternoon. He is in a position to do me a great deal of good if I do not offend him.

Melisande bit her lip to keep from laughing again. She watched as her brother dropped down heavily in the chair across from her. Your face is quite alarmingly red, Charlie. Are you sure you feel quite all right? Do you want some wine?

No, I do not want any wine! Charlie shouted. Then he gave a sudden groan and rubbed his hand wearily over his jaw. Melisande, do you not see what you do? I am trying to build a political career, and must be seen as respectable.

Melisande had heard all that before. "And who gave you the necessary connections to begin such a career? Who saved our faded family fortunes? My husband, that is who. I married the duke for the sake of us all. That is why our sisters are so well-married and you can follow your political aims."

And she shuddered still, months after his death, to remember the touch of his hands on her body. Only distraction, parties and friends took that away. And even parties didn’t work so well any longer.

I know, Melisande, and I am ever grateful, Charles said. "But things are different now. You are a widow and my career is on its way. Our sisters have their own homes and families in the country. Louise and I would be most happy if you made your home with