Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Rake Brenden St.
Martin, known as Bryn to friends and family, doesn’t much care for the rules of London society. Many call him “The Mutt” when his back is turned yet to his
face act honorable and friendly. He discovers his plans to return to America are suddenly in question when he meets a young woman, his opposite in every way, who immediately calls to his protective side. And his possessive side.
Curvaceous wallflower Rosamunde Fletcher is a disappointment to her family, and they never let her forget it. Wishing to make a difference other than as the daughter of a member of peerage, she tries to help where she can, but it isn’t easy when her own family is putting on airs to fool their peers. To save the family from financial ruin, her father arranges a marriage for her to an unknown man.
Determined to find one bit of happiness and excitement before the life-changing event, she strikes a bargain with Bryn. He will teach her brother to box, and
he, well, he will assist her in her quest to find a man for her to experience passion in the bedroom with. However, the more time she spends with Bryn, the more she learns he is the one, the only one, she wants.
The agreement? Foolish. Bryn shouldn’t have done it, but he isn’t able to say no to her and wants to do whatever necessary to make her smile. Before long he is questioning his own feelings because simply being friends is no enough anymore, he wants so much more, and soon he will have to make a decision that might change both of their lives.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Her lungs were in a vise, and they burned. Ironic really, given how freezing the temperature in the room was. Rosamunde lay in her bed for a moment longer wishing summer had arrived. Anything but this bone-chilling cold. Remaining burrowed beneath her thick blankets, she gave herself a mental shake.
As bad as I have it, I’m not as bad off as those women and children on the streets.
Shame flushed through her even as she tugged the heavy bedding up over her face, desperate to retain the minute bit of warmth she had. And to stop seeing her breath on the air. She had to get up, take care of her morning ablutions and dress in layers. At least it would be warmer downstairs.
Bitterness chased the shame and she sneered. Her father, always about putting on a front for those members of peerage. Not that they stopped by to visit, no, her father would go meet them at clubs. Where it was warm and opulent.
Even so, she didn’t want to leave the comfort of her bed. Kind of comfortable. The mattress was well used and heck, she even had extra drapes that were layered over her, adding to the heat. Not on top, that wasn’t something her mother could find out. Not that the woman would lower herself to come to her middle child’s room. But if a rumor of Rosamunde doing such a thing ever got out, she would feel the woman’s wrath for a long time.
Especially when I’m such a massive disappointment.
Massive in multiple ways if one were to believe her parents. And, she did, as she’d heard the disparaging remarks her entire life. How fat she was. How stupid. Useless. A waste of space. And those were the nicer ones.
Clenching her jaw against the chill she knew wasn’t avoidable, Rosamunde tossed back the heaped forms of bedding and hopped out of bed.
“Eep.” The room was colder than she’d anticipated, despite having seen her breath. Normally she was prepared for the shock of the cold but not this morning. Her entire body shook as she stripped off the heavy woolen dress she slept in for additional heat. Standing by the bowl on her large faded and chipped armoire, she lifted the small wooden hammer she had there and tried to break the layer of ice covering her cleansing water. When she realized it was a futile attempt to make a decent sized hole, she did the best she could.
By now she was a professional at this and washed quickly before dressing in layers. Not as warm as she had been, but again, she was on her way to the main floor where there would be a fire in the grate.
Propelled ahead by the thought of not freezing, she hurried out of her room and to the stairs. A third of the way down the dingy—when she had been younger, it was always highly polished— staircase, her threadbare footwear caught on an exposed edge of wood.
Pitching forward, she muffled her scream of surprise and threw out her hands, searching for something to save her. The railing did. Tears sprang to her eyes at the lancing pain of a wooden sliver shoving deep into her palm.
“Are you okay, milady?”
Startled and a bit embarrassed anyone had witnessed that incident, she lifted her chin and gave the older gentleman—one of the few members they still had on staff, the butler and her father’s valet—a small smile. Hiding her injured hand behind her back, she followed that up with a wobbled nod.
“Good morning, Richards. I guess I’m a bit of a bumbler this morning.” With as much grace as she could manage, she navigated the reminder of the stairs.
He gave her a nod and carried on his way. Opening her palm, she winced at the blood pooling there. She had never been a fan. Unwilling to head back up to the frozen northland of her room, she continued toward the sitting room where there would be a bit of warmth, so if her father got any visitors it wouldn’t take long to fill the room with enough heat to maintain that illusion he desperately sought.
Stomach growling, she worried her lower lip in her teeth before sighing with resignation. She needed to eat something. Bypassing the sitting room, she headed for the dining room and took a fortifying breath before entering.
Her mother, the viscountess, sat in her usual spot, her mug of tea piping hot, as evidenced by the steam curling up from it in a warm, beckoning tease.
Cool blue eyes, not the same as hers, no, Rosamunde had her grandmother’s green eyes, lifted as the typical sneer unfolded across her face when she realized who was before her. A familiar thought of why she didn’t have any of her mother’s features dashed ever so briefly though her mind.