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347 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2007
He was a nincompoop who’d ruined her perfect escape and distracted her with his nakedness. His eyeball-searing, knee-weakening, brain-numbing, breath-stealing, magnificent nakedness. Which he’d had the nerve, um, decency, to cover up.
So your straff wort requires shade, does it? Your head groundskeeper is in charge of the tortlingers? “Well, you fell into that trap, didn’t you, Lord Plant Expert,” she murmured to herself. “Didn’t know there was no such thing as straff wort or tortlingers, did you?”
Which meant two things: Lord Langston was definitely up to something.
“What sort of man threatens his guests in such a manner?”
“What sort of woman hides behind curtains and spies on men while they bathe?”
Damnation, he had a point. Not that she had any intention of admitting that to him. Especially since her need to hide behind the curtain was entirely his fault. Lifting her chin, she said in her haughtiest tone, “Surely you don’t believe I pose any sort of physical threat to you, my lord.”
“I’m not certain what to believe, Miss Moorehouse. Nor does it escape my notice that you’ve avoided my question as to what sort of woman hides behind curtains and spies on men while they bathe.”
“As you avoided mine as to what sort of man threatens his guests with a knife.”
“I find your candor refreshing,” he said softly.

