Pandora Effington is not going to get married. Absolutely not. No matter what that awful man, Maximillian Wells, the Earl of Trent, thinks, the only reason she asked him to meet her in the graveyard at midnight was to tell him how much she dislikes him. No matter what he says, she will not marry him, not ever. But Max refuses to believe that she means what she says – the odious man has the idea that she would be the perfect wife for him – and so Pandora does the only thing she can think of that will get him to give up. She assures him that she’ll marry him – if he can perform the twelve labours of Hercules (and yes, that does include taming the man-eating mares of Diomedes – although where he’ll find those in London is not really her concern). Max leaps at the challenge, and soon proves himself to be a worthy adversary, winning Pandora’s family over to his side, and generally making himself indispensable…and he is a fine figure of a man…here’s a sneak preview:
“You, my lord, are a rake and a rogue. A scoundrel.” Pandora Effington levelled a gaze filled with every vile thought she could marshal at Maximillian Wells, the Earl of Trent. “In short, sir, you are a beast.”
Trent stepped into the secluded salon. “Am I?”
“You are indeed. You should probably be shot.”
“I scarcely know what to say.” He snapped the doors closed behind him. A twinge of apprehension stabbed at her.
“Except, of course,” amusement glimmered in his eye, “thank you.”