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...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
The fireplace crackled, hissing before Nicu. The flame's heat touched his eyes as he stared at his open palm. The lines, callouses, and size all appeared normal, but it didn't feel normal. He flexed it, wondering if the sensation would die away, but it wouldn't. It was as if his hand was a beating emotion, bleeding invisibly through his skin.
Plush.
Soft.
Her bicep had more meat to it than he had anticipated. It was like the very fire before him sizzled in his palm, boiling his blood to a perfect simmer that was immersing his hand in a blissful euphoria.
Then there was the hand that held the doll. It was cold and unfeeling as if no life beat into it. The contrast was shocking. But the most peculiar thing was... Nicu was more concentrated on the hand that had gripped Harriet Morgan, than the one holding a key to the case he was so intrigued by. The one he had to solve and soon.
Especially now that he knew...
Their intended target was Harriet.
The porcelain doll began to crack from Nicu's grip. He glanced down at it. The message mocked him, causing him to question himself and his abilities. Whoever was behind this was playing an elaborate game with him. This vermin was highly intelligent and a mastermind, who had constructed and artfully crafted this incredibly thorough scheme. Nicu has had criminals do this to him before. All too eager to outsmart him in a ridiculous feud. To be the criminal that outsmarted him. This one, though, as mocking as the message was, wasn't because they were trying to outsmart him. They just simply wanted...
Harriet Morgan.
He zoned in on the message only he would understand. A daisy with a long stem, arched leaves, and delicate pedals. The insignia each of the girls possessed somewhere on their skin. Nicu wanted to smash the thing at his feet.
It was such a simple yet threatening message.
Whoever this person... or people are, Harriet Morgan is what they desire, and they have been hinting at it the whole time. Right in front of his eyes.
The bleached hair and skin.
Even their mannerisms and how they present themselves.
"Phal?" His sister called out. "She's awake."
"Is she okay?" he found himself asking.
"She's acting like it, but her hands are trembling, and I can see she's not by how firm her features are."
"Bring her to me."
His gaze set on the fire as he waited. The message may not have been personal, but Nicu was taking it personally. He didn't understand why, but something in him filled with a carnal need to keep Harriet Morgan safe from this cult.
"What does the daisy mean?" Harriet's soft voice asked, interrupting the fire's song.
Closing his eyes, Nicu's hand braced the fireplace mantel, hating the quiver he detected in her usually calm and reserved voice. He sifted through his thoughts and all the evidence he had gathered so far.
