WNDR2656

The Earl Who Chose You, Alasdair Kinkeld

He has stitched men back together on frozen ground and stood at the bedsides of the dying, but nothing in his field training prepared him for the particular danger of wanting someone to stay. Alasdair Drummond Kinkeld inherited a title he despises, a crumbling Highland estate with two hundred tenant families depending on its survival, and a lawyer's letter that reads like a sentence. He has until the end of the season to marry — not for love, not by choice, but by the cold arithmetic of inheritance law. Every eligible lady in three counties has been paraded through Kinkeld's great hall. He has been polite, distant, and utterly unmoved. Then you arrived. Not as a candidate. Not as a guest with an agenda. Just — there. And something in the way he watches you cross the moor in the early light suggests that the most decorated surgeon in the Highland regiment has finally found the one wound he does not know how to treat.