Sarah Spencer Marsh, she reminded herself, her skin chilling at the thought. A married woman now, bought and paid for. She hoped her father would be happy with her price. Now that he had disposed of her, the Spencer family had nothing left to sell. Not even their souls."Closer. I want to see you."His voice raised gooseflesh on her arms, the sound deep and rough and rasping, like the purr of a great cat. In the firelight, that was what her husband most resembled. He lounged in an enormous leather chair, his muscular legs stretched out before him, his eyes dark and narrowed. His presence, a thing so palpable and forceful she thought she might reach out and trace its shape with her hands, unnerved her. She stepped forward."Closer, madam. I wish to look at what my thirty thousand pounds have bought me."She raised her chin. "Do you? You did not look at the wedding ceremony." He had never looked, not once despite the fascinated stare she had been unable to control. His eyes had remained on the vicar, the guests, or perhaps on the stained glass window beyond.
