Book Two of The Wild Quartet
Charm, wit, and nerves of steel have helped Marcus Lithgow gamble his way across the Continent. But when his heart is at stake, all bets are off for this most perfect of rogues...

Anne Brotherton is tired of being an heiress. Why can’t men like her for her sharp mind and kind heart rather than her impressive dowry? When she meets Marcus Lithgow she thinks she's found the right man, until she learns he's nothing but an unscrupulous fortune hunter.

It's been years since Marcus set foot in England—why toy with the ton when he can fleece wealthy fools in Paris and Rome? Everything changes when he inherits a ramshackle estate. Marcus's first and only chance at a respectable life needs funding...the kind Anne Brotherton can provide. Such a wallflower should be ripe for the picking. So why does Marcus feel like he's the one hanging by a thread?

She nearly falls for Marcus's smooth seduction. But when Anne realizes she's being strung along, a lust for revenge empowers her like never before. Two can play at the game of deception. The game of love, however, has its own rules...




Eyes straight ahead, Anne Brotherton wove through the packed saloon, dodged a mustached guardsman, avoided the eye of a red-faced sportsman, and resolutely ignored the efforts of Lord Algernon Tiverton to offer her refreshment.

“Miss Brotherton! May I…”

No, thank you, she answered silently as she made her escape into a blessedly empty passage. No, you may not ply me with ratafia and bore me with tales of your ancestors.

Second door on the right, the footman had told her. It was cool in Mr. Weston’s private sanctum. Neither a fire nor the press of bodies moderated the chill of a November evening. She made a quick survey: two doors, one leading to a completely dark room or closet. She should be safe from that direction. She turned the key in the other with a satisfying click and released her breath.

Oh the bliss of escaping her suitors! Half an hour she guessed, until Lady Ashfield, her chaperone for the evening, sent someone to find her. Half an hour away from the inane compliments of insincere fools. Half an hour to feast her eyes and calm her spirit with the ineffable creations of the ancient past. Mr. Weston’s celebrated collection of antiquities was the only reason she’d chosen to attend his wife’s rout.



 “Neville’s heiress vs. fortune hunter plot has enough clever twists and witty repartée to be unpredictable and delightful. Driven by dialogue and well-motivated, smart characters, here’s a romance to spark both imaginations and emotions.” RT Book Reviews