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Marked as a Lyon’s Marchioness
She sought marriage.
He sought pleasure.
Love had other plans.
When scandal threatens to force her sister into a disastrous marriage, Miss Eliza Wainwright makes a desperate, daring nighttime visit to the Black Widow, owner of London’s most notorious gaming hall. All Eliza needs is a respectable husband to restore her family’s standing—instead, she finds herself drawn to the arrogant yet enigmatic Marquess of Redver, who comes to know her only as The Blackbird.
Redver’s carefully crafted façade hides explosive family secrets. But during a masked encounter with The Blackbird, he discovers not only pleasure and passion, but unexpected solace. When she refuses to see him again, him being of the same ilk that ruined her sister, his walls begin to crumble.
As hidden truths emerge and disguises fall away, will Redver and Eliza be destroyed? Or can Redver convince his perfect match he is worthy of her heart?
Available exclusively at Amazon
Review Quotes
…A delicious mix of scandal, secrets, and slow‑crumbling emotional walls. If you like your Regency romance with masked tension, messy family baggage, and a couple who fights their feelings every step of the way, this one delivers. -Lana B, Amazon
…A fast paced read with an awesome cast of characters. Elizabeth and Adrian’s story is packed with cover to cover humor, sizzle and a little suspense. I totally loved this book. -Deb D., Amazon
Excerpt
“Come into the light,” he urged with a gentle tug to her hand.
Up close, he was no less arrogant looking than he’d been at a distance.
He’d been pointed out to her, always on the outskirts of any gathering, glowering like a bird of prey. Pointed out, in fact, by various hopeful young women who must have been partial to rogues in need of reform.
She’d thought she had no such partiality for rogues. And none at all for arrogant ferals.
And yet, there was something alluring about his square jaw, his thin nose, and his narrow, hooded eyes, even if his prominent eyebrows arched in a manner that made him appear perpetually cross…until he smiled.
His smile was unexpected.
Warm, inviting, and full of wicked promise, his smile left an ache in her chest. If his face had a saving grace—and she wasn’t yet convinced she was willing to grant him that much—the saving grace would be his lips.
His lips were full, almost feminine.
She wondered why she couldn’t look away. His lips, his gaping collar, and the dark hair visible beneath…together they were creating a pool of heat in her lower belly even as her palm itched to slap away his curiously appealing grin and her body pulsed with a longing.
“Please,” he added.
She blinked. Ah, yes. He’d just asked her to come into the light, hadn’t he?
“I’d rather not,” she answered.
She’d meant to sound authoritative, like her godmother at her most haughty, but she did not even recognize her own low, gravely tone. Somehow, she, like Cassie, had entered an involuntary dance. He was leading, calling forth some rebellious buried deep inside.
How could she be herself, but also not herself?
Could one be both in and out of one’s body? Perhaps she’d lost her power of speech because she’d never been alone with a man besides Asquith, and her godmother’s son had never left her silenced.
Silenced. And angry. And hot. And curious.
“You’ve nothing to fear from me,” he reassured her.
She felt his whisper like a feather against her flesh—tingling, light, sweet. She swallowed roughly. “I beg to differ.”
He cocked his head as if she were something of an enigma. Eliza was used to odd expressions, to people who felt that she and her twin’s identical faces gave them the right to openly study them, looking for some subtle way to tell them apart.
His gaze was different. Even though she knew that between the shadows and the veil, he could discern very little, his gaze sought to penetrate her outer shell and look straight into her soul, as if, just by looking, he could peel back layers and uncover secrets she had not known she possessed.
He’d fail, of course.
But the sensation imparted by his undivided attention was, well, thrilling.
Every precept she’d been taught warned her to run, even as every newly blooming, ravenous instinct begged her to stay.
Need—raw, ravenous need—rasped within his breath. He hungered, she held the fruit. Heady, this power. She’d never have guessed such power existed.
The power to bring this feral to his knees. The power to change everything.