Incadescent

Sorrel St. Vincent is thrust into roles ruled by cruelty and choreography, where a woman's faith can be twisted into a leash.

Then there is Alexander--Captain Carr himself.

To the ton, he is merely a "blind man" in a red soldier's coat, an odd ornament of pity lingering at the edge of every gathering. But Sorrel sees something far more dangerous. His blindness is not confined to his eyes. It lives in his rejection of mercy, hunts her words as though they were contraband, and regards God as nothing more than a cruel trick he has been forced to endure.

Misunderstanding Sorrel's accidental entrapment as intentional, he knows the best way to get revenge. To break her faith.

With every jab, Sorrel has only one goal: she will save her newfound husband from himself.

Not by pleading. Not by flattering him. And certainly not by allowing society to turn him into a spectacle of ruin.

She intends to reach him through prayer, through obedience, through truth, and through the stubborn conviction that God is not a weapon--and that no man is destined to become nothing more than the sum of what was done to him.

But saving a man who despises the very thing that serves as her foundation comes with a fight.

Every attempt to help Alexander becomes a test. Every private conversation risks being twisted into seduction. Every kindness he accepts becomes another chain he forges around his own heart. And as the ton closes in--whispering, scheming, arranging, threatening--Sorrel must guard her faith from becoming their favorite weapon, even as Captain Alexander Carr pulls her deeper into a darkness he is certain she brought with her.

Because if Sorrel fails, she will lose far more than her dignity.

She will have to stand by and watch the captain she came to save destroy himself--and her with him.

(Book cover painting by me)