Ian Bassett stands over the open ledger with Annabel Darcy inches away, her pale throat flushing under his gaze. The marriage contract that will save his estate rests between them, but he has already begun to issue the commands that will degrade his untouched bride before the ink dries. The registry door remains unlocked.
He tells her to raise her skirts across the table. Her quiet obedience carries an edge of defiance that only sharpens his need to mark her pale skin and claim the innocence she offers on her own terms. The thin scar at his hip pulls as he leans in.
Her fingers brush the quill. How far will she yield before the contract breaks along with her deflowered virtue?
