By Judith Ivory
A Dutiful HeartAs befitting her identify, beautiful put up Channing-Downes used to be the right kind, obedient spouse of an getting older marquess -- till her husband's demise left her penniless and alone...with one final marital legal responsibility to meet. Entrusted with supplying a small black field to its rightful proprietor, she calls upon Graham Wessit, the infamous Earl of Netham, lifestyles has been endlessly marred by way of rumor and scandal. yet Graham wishes not anything to do with a bequest from the fellow he holds liable for his smash -- or with thebewitching emissary who brings it. within the face of breathtaking erotic secret -- within the throes of an infected ardour unbeckoned yet very unlikely to disclaim -- a rogue's hardened center can be undone via love...and a staidbeauty in straits may perhaps examine the beautiful, sensuous freedom of hand over.
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Extra resources for Black Silk
As she fumbled with the tinderbox, her hands shook. The surface of the writing desk blazed into light. She spread the pictures—there were an even dozen of them—as best 46 Ju≥itπ Ivor¯ she could under the bright kerosene lamp. She could not believe what she saw. They were illicit pictures, sketches of naked men and women doing God knew what to each other. Submit’s heart began to pound. She looked up suddenly, as if someone were about to ﬁnd her with these. Ridiculous. Dinner was an hour away. No one would be down.
A servant with a tray of glasses stopped into his shoulder blades. He was pinned against her ﬁnger. “You were completely ungracious at your end of the table,” she said. “Taciturn, glum. You hardly ate. I couldn’t catch your eye. ” “It has nothing to do with you. Let’s leave together. ” He made a mock smile. ” She rolled her eyes and reached up. She patted his cheek, returning a much more ingenuous smile than his. He caught her hand, turning his mouth into it, and bit the ball of ﬂesh at the base of her thumb.
Her attention darted over her shoulder. “Don’t ruin it. ” “Please, Gray. I feel so English tonight. ” Rosalyn was not English at all. She was from Philadelphia. He made a face at her back. And she swung on him. She put a ﬁnger in his chest. A servant with a tray of glasses stopped into his shoulder blades. He was pinned against her ﬁnger. “You were completely ungracious at your end of the table,” she said. “Taciturn, glum. You hardly ate. I couldn’t catch your eye. ” “It has nothing to do with you.