He would sit there—or perhaps stand there—looking impossibly beautiful, and he’d ask her to be his wife, and she’d have to struggle with the urge to say Yes, because the more she grew to know him, the more she was drawn to him.
Yes, he was a man who publicly paraded his aristocratic lovers, yes, he was highhanded and masterful, but he was also kind and generous and, in his own way, very moral.
And he was lonely. As lonely as poor Arabella Knightley—and that knowledge made her heart ache.
Nell cast him a covert glance. Mordecai Black, the notorious rake, eating his dinner quietly.
Her pulse gave its familiar little flutter. It would be so easy to fall in love with him. Terribly easy. She was halfway there already—but if part of her yearned to accept what Black offered, the rest of her k
