Thick, dark, chestnut brown hair. Handsome tortoise-shell glasses covering rich brown eyes.
But his face.
Damn.
His face.
In any romantic fantasy, that strong jaw, straight nose, prominent brow, those sumptuous lips and hooded eyes would be the face that would emerge when the knight on his mighty charger flipped up the visor of his helmet.
It was the face you’d see after the Scotsman in the kilt swung his broadsword, ending the life of his opponent, and whirled to face his next.
It was the face splashed in blood you’d see looking up from his kill after the Viking berserker brought down his battle-ax.
It was the face of the vicious mobster in the movie you felt wildly freaky about because he made you root for the bad guy mostly because you were dying to fuck him.
It was the face of a warrior, or a villain.
It was the face of Satan, Lucifer, who used to be God’s most beautiful angel.
And then he stood.
Tall, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, thick thighed, the desk hid the rest, but I didn’t have it in me to process more.
Not with the strength of the electrical pulse shooting through me after taking in only what I could see.
And it wasn’t just an, “Oo, this guy is hawt,” pulse.
Oh no.
It was something bigger.
Stronger.
Scarier.
Utterly terrifying.
How did I know?
Because for the first time in my life, after that man took his feet, and the shock tore through me, I fainted.
Dead to the carpet.
CHAPTER 3
THE DUKE
I came to with a view of that damned face.
“She’s awake,” Battle Talyn murmured in that purr of his, just before he straightened away, and Prudence was in my face.
“Oh my goodness, Vivi!” she cried. “Are you all right?”
I pushed up.
I did this because I was lying on a leather chesterfield. I had no idea how I got there, but my concern was, the lord of the manor carried me.
Beyond Prudence, I could see a glorious, carved stone fireplace.
