The Earl of Pensby lost his wife in a fire, one that left him scarred in more ways than one. He’s surly, brooding, and according to half the ton, a monster. Except to Agatha Trumwell, she sees so much more than his scars. But with a pitiful dowry, unfavorable looks, and a tendency to speak her mind, she has nothing to commend her, or so she believes. Can these two lonely souls find love amid the gossiping beau monde while someone plots to tear their fragile world apart?
(246 pages) Spicy
“You’re not going anywhere,” Magnus growled, as he turned, the scarred side of his face a pale contrast to the angry red flush of his skin.
But Agatha refused to be bullied. “It is apparent that you’ve no need of a companion, since we speak hardly a word during meals, nor do we engage in any semblance of a conversation afterward,” she said, her breathing quickened by her fury. “And you’ve made it painfully obvious you don’t want me in your bed!”
She threw the shawl into her trunk and slammed the lid. “You couldn’t even bring yourself to kiss me on our wedding day. Well, your mistress, or whoever this demon stalking me is, can bloody well have you!”
In two strides, he was in front of her, gripping her arms with such strength, a spark of fear gripped her as strongly as he did. Would he harm her, beat her?
Then she looked into his turbulent gray eyes. No, he was furious, but there was something else, something deeper, something that told her he would never raise his hand against her.
“There is no mistress,” he snarled.
Odd that she believed him, but she would not remain where she was of no use, where she wasn’t wanted.
“And I was pushed,” she ground out.
“Then I’ll assign you a bloody guard, but you are not leaving,” he demanded with a vigorous shake. “Do you hear me?”
She couldn’t utter a word amid the chaotic emotions flashing across his face and in his eyes.
“You cannot leave me,” he said, his words broken and pain-filled. Then his lips crashed into hers.