No True Gentleman (Sonnet Books)
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In this powerful and passionate novel from Liz Carlyle, one of romance fiction's brightest new stars, a high-society murder brings scandal to the lords and ladies of the ton -- and unexpected desire to a pair of unlikely lovers.
No True Gentleman
Lady Catherine Wodeway knows that no true gentleman would presume to kiss a lady senseless without a proper introduction -- not even to save her life. yet somehow, Maximilian de Rohan's dark good looks, brooding manner, and mysterious past make it all too easy for Catherine to forget that she's a lady.
Although Max is stunned by Catherine's beauty, honesty, and charm, he knows that getting mixed up with a noblewoman can end badly, especially when her brother is a murder suspect. But when Catherine stumbles onto the key to Max's murder investigation and unwittingly places herself in the killer's hands he will risk everything to pull her out of danger and into the arms of love.
disagree.” Catherine managed a weak, crooked smile. “I fell in love with you easily. And very quickly, too. Perhaps the rest of it will become easy in time? I shall wait, Max. I am a very patient woman.” For a moment, he looked stunned. His mouth opened, as if he meant to say something, but words apparently failed him. And then he shook his head, turned abruptly to open the door, and went down the steps into the sunshine. On the pavement below, it seemed Mr. Sisk and Mr. Kemble had broken into a
over his face. “From the look of it, my grandson, it would appear these long hours are inconveniencing you.” Max knew he looked even more haggard than usual. “I was up quite late,” he admitted, bending down to stroke the big Neapolitan mastiff, who had settled with a grunt on the floor. “At Walrafen’s. The, er, assignment.” A ghost of a smile flicked across his grandmother’s face as she craned her head to stare at his bedchamber door. “Ah, veramente?” Her voice was soft and suspicious. “Then it
of hair which teased her forehead. But her thoughts of Max were not so easily tamed. An extraordinary new awareness pulsed through Catherine’s veins this morning, and it had nothing at all to do with the fact that the man was dark and dangerous looking. He was desirable, yes. But there was more to it than that. Catherine couldn’t quite put words to it yet, but in his long, harsh face, she saw a kinship. Perhaps it was some mutual understanding of loss. Or perhaps disillusionment? Still, his were
cursed. Catherine’s eyes flew open, and she struggled awkwardly onto her elbows. Lifting his weight onto his arms, Max dropped his forehead to touch hers. “Maledizione!” he managed to choke. “Do I live in a bloody coaching inn?” Catherine let out her breath in a dejected sigh. “You’d best answer it,” she whispered, stroking one hand through the heavy hair which fell forward to frame his face. He started to shake his head, but she insisted. “Oh, Max, I’ll still be here. What if it’s something
her, to hurt her. And that thought had both revolted and enraged him. “Stop it, Catherine!” he’d hissed. “I don’t know what you are suggesting.” “I’m suggesting you just keep believing your own carefully crafted poppycock, Max,” she’d snapped, half turning as if to leave him. “That way, you’ll never have to deal with any uncomfortable notions like intimacy. You’ll never have to worry about your work conflicting with your personal life. You’ll need never apologize for your unutterable discourtesy