Reborn: Marrying The Cold Disabled Marquis

ore her a testament to the art of deception. Eliza had laid out

touch too much powder to flatten her cheekbones, a drab shade of rouge, a liner that made her eyes se

tely. But the large, silver-gilt mirror on the vanity acted as

to the reflection

nous, like porcelain held up to candlelight. Her cheekbones were high and elegant, casting faint, a

hey were huge and almond-shaped, the color of dark, rich chocolate. They w

had seen at court. This was not the woman described in the reports he'd commissione

rate disguise. But why would a woman in h

pins from her hair, and a cascade of dark, heavy silk

ith a simple nightgown of pale ivory silk. The fine material clung

lder almost hit the window frame. He stared blindly into the night, but the image of h

aving a vast empty expanse between them. She closed her eyes,

k silhouette against the moonlight. Finally, with a sigh, he mo

room was the soft whis

performance finally caught up with Gabriella. Her

eped into her bones-a phantom memory of her final hours. In her sleep, sh

gue was hard, unfamiliar. He sat up, rubbing the te

her. Her brow was furrowed, her lips parted i

and walked silently to the bedside, looki

owards him. Her arm shot out, her hand closing around his forearm. Her cheek came t

n fr

nt of lavender and roses filled his senses. The innocent, trusting

r grip tightened in her sleep

ul, smoothed of pain. The vulnerability in her expression was a

his gut-a chaotic mix of irritation, su

ong time, Lord Dylan Lucas fel