The Doctor's Proposal. Marion Lennox

      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; her stories allow her to travel, and 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 ONE

      HOW did you knock on the front door of a medieval castle? And what was such a castle doing in a remote Australian fishing community?

      Dr Kirsty McMahon was worried and tired and it was starting to rain. The castle doors looked as if they’d take a battering ram to open them, and using the incongruous intercom-thing produced nothing. Her tentative knock sounded ridiculous. She knocked harder and gave a hopeful shout but there was no response.

      Enough. She’d been stupid to come. Susie was complaining of cramp. She and her twin would find a hotel in Dolphin Bay and broach the castle walls in the morning. If she could get Susie back here.

      Then she paused as a sudden flurry of barking sounded on the other side of the gates. Was someone coming?

      The vast timber doors opened an inch, and then wider. A lanky brown dog of indiscriminate parentage nosed its way out. A hand gripped its collar. A man’s hand.

      She took a step back. This place seemed straight out of a Gothic novel. The castle was set high on the cliffs above the sea, with purple-hazed mountains ringing the rear. In the mist of early evening, Kirsty was almost expecting to be met by a pack of ancient hunting dogs, anchored to armoured warriors with battle-axes.

      ‘Boris, if you jump up on anyone you’ll be toast.’

      She blinked. The owner of the voice didn’t sound like an axe-toting warrior. The voice sounded…nice?

      The doors swung wider and she decided the adjective nice wasn’t strong enough.

      Her warrior was gorgeous.

      Six feet two. Mid-thirties maybe? Aran sweater, faded jeans and battered boots. Deep brown, crinkly hair, ruffled just the way she liked it in her men.

      Her men? Robert? The thought almost made her smile and she had no difficulty at all turning her attention back to her warrior.

      What else? He had a craggy face, strongly boned and weathered. His eyes smiled at the edges even when he wasn’t smiling. His body was…excellent.

      Oh, for heaven’s sake, she was standing outside a ridiculous Australian castle thinking lustful thoughts about a strange man’s body? All her life she’d fought to stay in control, and now, when everything was teetering, the last thing she needed was the complication of a male. Back home she was dating nice, safe Robert, who’d stay being nice and safe for as long as she wanted. She was in control. She was married to medicine.

      But her warrior was definitely gorgeous.

      ‘Um…hello,’ she tried.

      The stranger was hauling his dog back, giving her a chance to catch her breath. Behind the man and dog she could see the castle forecourt. This, then, was why there’d been no response. She’d knocked on what was essentially the fortress gates.

      And behind the gates… The castle was a lacy confection of gleaming white stone, turrets and battlements. Kirsty was practically gaping. It was so ridiculously seventeenth-century-meets-now that it was fantastic. It was also set so far back from the gates that, if the intercom wasn’t working, it must have been sheer luck that anyone had heard her call.

      She needed to stop gaping.

      ‘What can I do for you?’ the man asked, and she attempted to sound coherent. Sort of.

      ‘My sister and I have come to see Ang—the earl.’

      ‘I’m sorry, but His Lordship isn’t receiving visitors.’ It was a brisk denial, made in a hurry as he pushed the gates closed again.

      She stuck her foot forward.

      Mistake. These gates weren’t built so that a five-feet-four doctor of not very impressive stature could block them with one toe.

      She yelped. Her warrior swore, and the gate swung wide again.

      ‘Did I hurt you?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You shouldn’t have put your foot there.’

      ‘You were closing the gate in my face.’

      He sighed. They both inspected her foot for a moment, waiting for it to do something interesting, but she was wearing solid trainers. And she’d hauled her foot out fast. Maybe she’d suffered nothing worse than a minor bruise.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ the man said, and as his voice softened she thought again just how gorgeous he was. His voice was deep and resonant, with the lazy drawl of an Australian accent. Well, what had she expected in Australia? But he did seem to be…caring.

      And his caring tone tugged