By Anne Stuart
Longing for the downfall of Nicholas Blackthorne, the infamous rake whom she holds chargeable for the lack of her advantage and her relatives fortune, Ghislaine de Lorgny is all of sudden kidnapped through her so much hated enemy.
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Not when only the faintest of smiles ever touched her mobile mouth. Not when her dark brown eyes suggested tragedies the servants could only guess at. Not when the little joy and affection in her soul was reserved for the small black puppy that slept happily at her feet by the oversized chair. Ghislaine knew what they thought of her, and she was content with it, if with nothing else in her life. The servants were distrustful, wary, and jealous of her. But they wished her no ill, and that was enough.
He looked at her then, and she realized the bleakness hadn't left after all. It had simply settled in his dark, unfathomable eyes. "Don't you be absurd, Ellen. " She'd done just that. Run, without even bothering to pass along Nicky's warnings. In Ghislaine's case it would have done no good. Ghislaine never listened to warnings, never seemed to listen to a word Ellen said. It was a wonder they were friends. She also, however, kept her distance from men, and from the world abovestairs. She allowed her mistress to be her friend, but only on her terms.
He rose, feeling distant, angry. " De Lorgny didn't move for a moment. " "Then it would be best if you left. " Nicholas managed a civil nod, turning away from the bitter old man. It was then he saw her. She must have heard almost every word that had been spoken. Her father's request that he take her with him. His flat-out refusal and renunciation of her. She didn't look like a child at all. Her face was pale, with two bright red spots of emotion on her high cheekbones. Her eyes were very dark in her white face, and her wide, mobile mouth that could tilt so enchantingly was now ashen and trembling.