Breaking the Rake's Rules. Bronwyn Scott

was still blinking when the man at the counter finished his discussion with the proprietor and turned towards them. ‘Ladies, good day.’ He gave them a little bow she’d recognise anywhere for its slightly sardonic nature, even in the interior of a dim little furniture shop. Then he turned the full force of his attentions in her direction, so urbane, so polite, it was hard to reconcile him with the ruthless seducer-interrogator he’d been in her garden, challenging her with his words, his body. ‘Miss Rutherford, how are you besides sun-blinded?’

      Kitt Sherard! Her first thought was that the fates had decided to smile on her after all. She was beginning to think they’d deserted her entirely after enduring three hours of tedious discussion and