His Infuriating Bride

"I am telling you, Lord Lancaster. I am not a tramp!" Clutching the ivory sheet meagerly hiding her bare torso as tightly as her clumsy hands would allow, Griselda Amelie Brown bestowed her notorious glare to the preposterous man lounging indolently on the rich, leather chair. Her chair.

Her fury turned into pure rage as it became evidently clear that her glare that had the ability to make a large number of men nervous and sweaty had no effect on him. Oh no. Instead, amusement tugged his sensual lips up into a smile.

"Did I say that, My Lady?" His warm, suave question brought her back to the present. But his possessive tone tempted her to give into the urge to throw a tantrum.