By Anne Stuart
Longing for the downfall of Nicholas Blackthorne, the infamous rake whom she holds accountable for the lack of her advantage and her kinfolk fortune, Ghislaine de Lorgny is all at once kidnapped via her such a lot hated enemy.
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Those are a lot of ifs. " Blackthorne considered this. "I admit she didn't like me much. " "I don't know what her motive was," Taverner declared. "All I know is she had a better chance than anyone. She's the one who cooked your meal, isn't she? And it ain't something as simple as not liking you. I saw her face. She hates you. " "Absurd," Nicholas said, closing his eyes and considering the notion nonetheless. "Maybe. But I'm keeping a close eye on her. And she don't put her foreign hands on anything you eat.
The day his engagement to the gorgeous Miss Stanley was announced, she considered slashing her wrists. The next day she told herself she was well on her way to being cured. Still, the friendship remained. There were things she could tell him that she could tell no one else, not even her brother. And she never had to worry about the stilted rules of society, or flirtation, or male and female silliness. Tony would never, ever want someone like her. Not when every single husband-hunting female of beauty and fortune had flung herself at his head for the last fifteen years.
He was red with sudden anger. " he echoed. "Just like that. You can't-" "I certainly can. You know as well as I do what taking her with me would mean. " The words fell in silence on the golden autumn afternoon. "Perhaps I have been mistaken," Comte de Lorgny said carefully. "I had thought there might be a… tenderness of feeling in your heart toward my daughter. A certain-" "You are mistaken," he said flatly. "Any tenderness of feeling is on your daughter's side, not mine. She is a child. I am not in the habit of bedding children, or of marrying them.
A Rose at Midnight by Anne Stuart