Heroes don’t exist, after all, was her first outrageous thought. From out in the corridor, she shut the bedchamber door so softly, she was sure neither clandestine lover inside heard the muffled click. Everything in her wanted to lean on that door and slump down its polished mahogany surface until she was sitting on the floor. She wanted to brood. To cry. To raise her fist and shout at the universe that she so obviously didn’t comprehend. Instead, she threw her shoulders back and had her second thought, this one even more outrageous: I’ve wasted the past five years pining after Lord Tumbridge? The scoundrel earl? She despised the man. Despised! And look at what he was doing now. Ruining something yet again—a wedding, for goodness’ sake. A wedding that would solve everything she’d worried about for her stepsister Clare, who’d become as self-important and superior as her father, Lord Pritchard, and Eleanor’s own mother.
What do You think about The Earl With The Secret Tattoo?
