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130 pages, ebook
First published April 21, 2012
"Do you not understand what happened to you?" Freddy glared at her. "You suffered a fate worse than death, and still you—"The conversations between these sisters added a dimension to this romance that I think really helped to flesh out Serena's character. I thought it was a clever way to develop the heroine when Milan didn't have that many pages to do so.
"I am alive," Serena said. "My child is alive. I intend to carry on living. Can you say that much?"
...
"You always put things at risk. If you fell out of a tree as a child, I'd clean you up and bandage your knees, and next I looked you'd be out climbing again. You never learned your lesson."
Oh, she'd learned her lesson: Climb harder.
...
How could they be sisters? It seemed impossible that they should view the world with such fundamentally different eyes.






“I believe none of it, not without proof. Tell me what really happened, Miss Barton, and perhaps I can help.”ARG. TELL. ME. NOW.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Marshall,” she said. “I really will not say.”
“No.” Her voice broke on the word, but she did not look down. “He did not force me.”I understand that there is always a quality of self-censure, of self-blaming in the case of rape, when a woman has been the victim of sexual violence. She sometimes blames herself. If only I had done this. If only I had done that. I understand that perfectly, but the way that this book portrayed Serena's attitude made it seem less like self-blaming than a woman who doesn't know exactly what the hell is going on, who's just seeking vengeance because she feels that maybe, possibly, perhaps, she should seek reparation for an act that perhaps she didn't like, than that of a victim. I don't know if I'm explaining myself well here.
I let him do it.
are showing as 101 pages. Believe me, this one felt longer than a novella! I think Ms Milan may have expanded this slight story beyond what it could bear.
Safe, her dastardly senses whispered. He’s safe. There was something comforting about his forthright recital—comfort with an edge that only sharpened when he took a step closer to her.
“If I were a cobbler,” he said, “I’d offer you a discount on shoes.”
“Now you’ve completely lost your mind.”
“No. It would give me an excuse to measure your feet with my bare hands.” His lip twitched up. “And don’t think I’d stop at your toes.”
She had both her hands on top of his walking stick. She felt herself lean toward him, ever so slightly.
“But you’re not,” she said. “You’re the Wolf of Clermont, and I’m the woman you cannot drive away.”
“Can’t is such an unforgiving word,” he said. “I prefer do not wish to.”
This was a man who had walked away from his family at fourteen. He had a reputation for getting what he wanted.
But there was so much more to him than the boorish drone she’d once envisioned. He had talked about crushing her hopes and dreams, but when he stood next to her, he drove away the despair she’d carried for so long.


