Sherlock Holmes meets Pride and Prejudice in this bewitching and scintillating romance between an eccentric gypsy detective and a young spinster governess.
Harriet Morgan, a shy, nurturing young woman, watches the finishing school she has seen as he...
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Harriet stood in shock at the thought of one of the girls having the capability of doing something like this. But none of them would've, she defended to herself.
Mr. Rowe continued moving towards her in a threatening way, smooth and sharp. What he did next caused Harriet to gasp. He picked up the lithe woman cradling her in his arms while simultaneously still carrying Gracie.
"Know this, Miss Morgan, I am suspicious of you. I have to be of every single girl that escaped. It is my job to find out the truth no matter who I may offend. You at the moment are on the top of my list of possible suspects."
"Let me down this instant!" Harriet insisted.
"You have been carrying this girl on a twisted, possibly sprained ankle, so allow me to carry you and bear the burden of your small frame."
Harriet, not knowing what to do, gave in and wrapped her arms around the paradox of a man's neck. Warmth shot through her into her chest and down her stomach at the contact of his swarthy skin against her ivory.
He smelled different from any man she had ever been in close contact with. There were the usual scents, the distinct hint of shaving soap, linen, the characteristic man aroma, and then something else entirely. It clung to him and his skin. Some mixture of spiced tea leaves and old books, a lovely and calming smell.
"Mr. Rowe, I believe you and I are going to be very cross with one another."
The man laughed. "Why, my little spinster..." he purred causing Harriet to flush at his claim on her. "You're probably the embodiment of what a lady is supposed to be, correct?"
She nodded against his chest, and fell silent for a moment, unnerved by how his close contact was affecting her. Harriet hated herself for caring about her disorderly appearance, especially since the man who was carrying her just accused her of such a vile thing. If it was under normal circumstances she would be insulated in a high-necked dress, looking like the essence of propriety and smelling of soap and starch instead of the forest just after it rained.
"If you mean I have been trained and instilled with rules and proper etiquette society expects from women, then you are correct," Harriet exclaimed in a strict voice.
Mr. Rowe laughed softly. "Then it seems to me we were born to resent each other, Miss Morgan."
"Am I to see you as an enemy then?"
"Only if you are guilty," Mr. Rowe stated sharply.
Harriet, against her will, laid her head on his strong shoulder that was so muscular it was oddly comforting. So unforgivingly virile, she thought to herself. Her eyes took in Gracie's lifeless face and the audacity of his accusations angered her all over again, but she was too tired to fight, too tired to argue her innocence.
"I believe, no matter the verdict, Mr. Rowe, we are sworn enemies," Harriet whispered as she shut her eyes and for the first time allowed herself to fall into a deep sleep that she had been deprived of for weeks.
