LITMIR.BIZ

      Marion Lennox was born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows weren’t interested in her stories! Marion writes for the Medical Romance^™ and Harlequin Romance^® lines. In her non-writing life, Marion cares (haphazardly) for her husband, kids, dogs, cats, chickens and anyone else who lines up at her dinner table. She fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost!). She also travels, which she finds seriously addictive. As a teenager Marion was told she’d never get anywhere reading romance. Now romance is the basis of her stories and her stories allow her to travel. If ever there was one advertisement for following your dream, she’d be it! You can contact Marion at www.marionlennox.com

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER ONE

      Information required on whereabouts of Dougal Douglas (or direct descendant), brother to Lord Angus Douglas, Earl of Loganaich. Contact solicitors Baird and O’Shannasy, Dolphin Bay, Australia, for information to your advantage.

      ‘MR DOUGLAS, you’re an earl.’

      Hamish groaned. He was hours behind schedule. The Harrington Trust Committee was arriving in thirty minutes and his perky secretary-in-training was driving him nuts.

      ‘Just sort the mail.’

      ‘But this letter says you’re an earl. You gotta read it.’

      ‘Like I read e-mails from Nigeria offering to share millions. All I need to do is send my bank account details. Jodie, you know better.’

      ‘Of course I do,’ she told him indignantly. Honestly, he was being a twit.

      But she forgave him. Who wouldn’t? Hamish Douglas was the cutest boss she’d ever worked for. Jodie had been delighted when Marjorie had retired and she’d been given the chance to take her place. At thirty-three, Hamish was tall, dark and drop-dead gorgeous. He had ruffled black curls, which fought back when he tried to control them. He had deep brown twinkly eyes and the most fantastic smile…

      When he smiled. Which wasn’t often. Hamish might be one of the most brilliant young futures brokers in Manhattan, but he didn’t seem to enjoy life.

      Maybe he’d smile when he realised he really was an earl.

      ‘This one’s different,’ she told him. ‘Honest, Mr Douglas, you need to look. If you’re who these people think you are then you’ve inherited a significant estate. A significant estate in lawyer speak…I bet that means a fortune.’

      ‘I’ve inherited nothing. It’s a scam.’

      ‘What’s a scam? Is Jodie bothering you with nuisance mail?’

      Uh-oh. Jodie had been rising, but as soon as the door opened she sat straight back down. Marcia Vinel was Hamish’s fiancée. Trouble. Jodie had overheard Marcia on at least two occasions advising Hamish to get rid of her.

      ‘She’s a temp from the typing pool. Surely you can do better.’

      ‘But I like her,’ Hamish had replied, much to Jodie’s delight. ‘She’s smart, intuitive and organised—and she makes me laugh.’

      ‘Your secretary’s not here to make you laugh,’ Marcia had retorted.

      No, Jodie thought, shoving the offending letter into the tray marked PENDING. Life’s too serious to laugh. Life’s about making money.

      ‘What’s the letter?’ Marcia said, with a sideways glance at Jodie to say she didn’t appreciate Jodie knowing anything about Hamish that she herself didn’t. ‘Is it a scam?’

      Jodie knew when to turn into a good secretary. She tugged on her headset, paid attention to her keyboard and didn’t answer. ‘What’s the letter?’ Marcia said again, this time directly to Hamish.

      ‘It’s some sort of con,’ Hamish said wearily. ‘And Jodie’s not bothering me any more than anyone else is. Hell, Marcia, I have work to do.’

      ‘I came to tell you the Harrington delegation’s been delayed,’ Marcia told him. ‘Their flight’s two hours late from London. Relax.’

      He did, but not much. That meant rescheduling and…

      ‘I’ll rearrange your appointments.’ Jodie emerged from her headset and he cast her a look of gratitude. ‘Only I do think you should read the letter.’ She mightn’t like Marcia, she decided, but at least Marcia would make Hamish look at it.

      He went back to frowning. ‘Jodie, get real. Letters saying I’m an earl and I’ve inherited a fortune are the stuff of a kid’s fantasy.’

      ‘But it doesn’t say send bank account details. It says contact a solicitor. That sounds fusty rather than scammy. Real.’

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