Her Wicked Rogue by Scarlett Scott EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author:Scarlett Scott
- Language: English
- Genre: Victorian Historical Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
The first time he met Her Royal Highness, Princess Anastasia St.
George, she offered him a king’s ransom in jewels to help find her
brother, an exiled Boritanian prince.
The second, she asked him to take her virginity.
It was a gray day laden with fog, thin mist falling beyond the
windowpanes on the opposite end of the chamber. The princess had arrived
at Archer’s town house unannounced and uninvited, two facts which
displeased him greatly. And despite all logic and common sense, he wanted
to feel her lips beneath his with the fiery passion of a thousand burning
suns.
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Despite that aberrant desire, his answer was swift and curt. He didn’t
dabble in deflowering spoiled royalty.
“I’m afraid I cannot, Your Royal Highness.”
Beneath the brilliant purple of the cape she hadn’t removed for her
unexpected call, she gave a delicate shrug, as if his response was of no
concern. “I shall have to find another man willing to aid me, then.”
He was beginning to think the woman was a Bedlamite.
“Another man?” he repeated in a growl.
Did she mean to imply that any chap with a ready cock would suffice
for the task? Had she chosen him out of convenience? And why did the
notion rankle him so? It was hardly his concern who the stunning woman
before him bedded or why.
The princess folded her hands demurely in her lap, looking effortlessly
regal with her chestnut hair in a chignon and a myriad of perfect little curls
at her temples. “If you don’t wish to help me, then I must find someone
else.”
This, she said as if it were the most reasonable of utterances. As if she
offered her maidenhead as a common occurrence. He shouldn’t be curious.
Nor should he be entertaining the twin sharp edges of jealousy and lust, but
they were nonetheless a blade carving through him, preparing to lay him
low.
Archer rested his elbows on the polished rosewood desk between them,
leaning forward. “How do you propose to find someone else, Princess?”
“I don’t desire to attend a house of ill repute for the obvious risks
involved to my reputation,” she said, frowning. “However, if I’m left with
no suitable alternatives, I suppose I must consider it. Tell me, Mr. Tierney,
are there discreet brothels for ladies in London, or do they only serve the
appetites of gentlemen?”
Did madness run in the Boritanian royal line? It was the only
explanation; he was sure of it. And yet, she sat opposite him calmly—her
English as flawless as the rest of her—undeniably lucid. Holding his gaze
without shame. Elaborating upon her utterly asinine plan to give her body to
a stranger as if it were unexceptional.
“You cannot go to a brothel,” he told her.
She arched a finely shaped brow. “Why can I not?”
Because the thought of her with some faceless man—of another man
touching her at all—made him long to send his fist crashing into a skull.
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