Chapter Ten
Violette caught her breath upon her first glimpse at Charles Carrick. Ethan’s junior by three years, Charles possessed the same rugged features, strong jaw, piercing dark eyes and powerful build. The only physical difference between them was Charles’s hair color, the hue of soft sand.
Charles looked up at her from his wheelchair, his eyes wide, as if he were seeing a ghost. His firm, masculine lips curled in a snarl, showing her how bitter his experiences had left him. For a mere moment, she detected a softening in his gaze as it roved the length of her figure, from her hair, down her dress and stockings, to the low, delicate heels of her shoes.
“Violette, I presume?” His tweed jacket bunched as he wheeled himself over the library’s Oriental carpet, closer to where she stood
