The Heir’s Chosen Bride

A book in the Castle at Dolphin Bay series, 2006



Dear Reader,

I love ancient castles, handsome lords in kilts of ancient tartan and bagpipes on the battlements. My Scottish friends, however, tell me a feisty heroine is more likely to be hidden by fog or eaten by midges than she is to find the man of her dreams on yon Scottish parapet.

My Australian climate does have some advantages. Fine, I thought. I’m a fiction writer. I’ll transfer my Scottish castle to my favorite place in the world-Australia’s New South Wales coast. With a wave of my magic wand, I’ve therefore brought the romance of medieval Scotland to the turquoise waters of today’s Dolphin Bay. Add a family feud, a fortune to be won, a double set of twins and a couple of very sexy heroes… It’s far too much for one book so I’ve spread the fun over two.

My CASTLE AT DOLPHIN BAY duo, starting with The Doctor’s Proposal, has every element that good romance requires-including Queen Victoria in the bathroom and a murderer out on the bay. So far it’s two books, but if you enjoy them please let me know-via www.marionlennox.com. I may be forced to write another. And another:-)

Happy reading,

Marion Lennox

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.’