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In every life there is a turning point.
A moment so tremendous, so sharp and breathtaking, that one knows one's life will never be the same. For Michael Stirling, London's most infamous rake, that moment came the first time he laid eyes on Francesca Bridgerton.
After a lifetime of chasing women, of smiling slyly as they chased him, of allowing himself to be caught but never permitting his heart to become engaged, he took one look at Francesca Bridgerton and fell so fast and hard into love it was a wonder he managed to remain standing. Unfortunately for Michael, however, Francesca's surname was to remain Bridgerton for only a mere thirty-six hours longer -- the occasion of their meeting was, lamentably, a supper celebrating her imminent wedding to his cousin.
But that was then . . . Now Michael is the earl and Francesca is free, but still she thinks of him as nothing other than her dear friend and confidant. Michael dares not speak to her of his love . . . until one dangerous night, when she steps innocently into his arms, and passion proves stronger than even the most wicked of secrets . . .11 pages, Audible Audio
First published June 29, 2004
This thing between them, this bond—it wasn’t just passion, and it wasn’t wicked. It was love, and it was divine.
Audio book source: Hoopla (library borrow)
Story Rating: 5 stars
Narrator: Rosalyn Landor
Narration Rating: 4 stars
Genre: Historical romance
Length: 11 hours and 30 minutes
He would never escape her, this woman. He would never escape her, and he could never have her.
It was impossible. Quite simply wrong. There was too much there. Too much had happened ...
"What, Francesca?" he asked ruthlessly. "What do you think of me?"
"I think you are one of the finest men I know," she said softly.
Damn. Trust her to unman him with a single sentence. He stared at her, just stared at her, trying to figure out what the hell she'd meant by that.
His lips touched hers in the barest, softest hint of a caress. It was the sort of kiss that seduced with subtlety, sent tingles through her body and left her desperate for more ...
Because it had never been like this.
That had been his body.
This was his soul.
“I think you're going to break more hearts this spring than I'll be able to count."
"It isn't your job to count them," he said, his voice quiet and hard.
"No, it isn't, is it?" She looked over at him and smiled wryly. "But I'm going to end up doing it all the same, won't I?"
"And why is that?"
She didn't seem to have an answer to that, and then, just when he was sure she would say no more, she whispered, "Because I won't be able to stop myself.”
"Thank you, Michael ..."
In every life there is a turning point.
A moment so tremendous, so sharp and clear that one feels as if one's been hit in the chest, all the breath knocked out, and one knows, absolutely knows without the merest hint of a shadow of a doubt that one's life will never be the same.