by Shelley Bradley
$4.99 U.S. / $6.99 Can.
Cover Artist - Jon Paul
Cover Model - John DeSalvo
When Lady Serena Boyce's husband, the elderly duke of Warrington, could not give her an heir, he asked her to take a lover in order to produce a child. She never dreamed it would mean falling in love. One look at the handsome stranger who rescued her from a thief, and virginal Serena was overcome with desire. Dark and compelling, Lucien Clayborne, Marquess of Daneridge, was everything her honor warned her against. Yet the anguish in his soul drew her nearer . . . and before the night was through, she had gifted him with her innocence.
Then the duke was murdered, and Lucien discovered that Serena was pregnant. Still reeling from the death of his cherished daughter and enraged by his first wif'e callous betrayels, Lucien's honor demanded that he make Serena his bride. But the rapture of their one night together had unlocked feelings he thought his heart had forgotten, and now a chilling evil threatened their chance to claim a love that promised to last a lifetime.
As Serena passed through the door, it shut behind her with quiet menace. Startled, she whirled toward the door - and gasped.
Lucien. He stood tall, his broad shoulders square and taut within his stark black coat. Her eyes flew to his in question. It was a mistake. The flaring censure, the blazing damnation in those emerald depths, filled her with trepidation.
"Hello, sweetheart." The endearment, once spoken like a caress, he now wielded like a knife, sharp and cutting, stabbing her with alarm.
He stepped toward her.Reflexively, she stepped back.
"Or should I properly address you as Your Grace?"
Dear God, he knew. A crash of apprehension roared in her head. Perspiration broke out in fine beads on her palms. She rubbed them together nervously.
"How did you find out?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Does if matter?" Fury raced across his face, resounded in his deep voice.
She swallowed. "I . . . suppose not."
Before she could move, he took the final steps toward her. He grabbed her arms and pulled her forward. His sensual mouth - the one that had taught her such ecstasy - then condemned her.
"What kind of games are you playing, you little hellion?"
She recoiled from the hard-edged rage in his expression and groped for the first answer in her mind - the honest one. "It wasn't a game. I allowed it to happen," she whispered. "And I should not have."
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