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384 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2002
Untie my heart. I will never be right without you.
Judith Ivory managed again to create unique story in a genre that is full of formula and hackneyed story lines. Reading it felt like looking deep into the lake when conditions are windy. Everything is distorted, strange, even uncomfortable and then the wind dies down, the waves subside leaving an unobstructed clear view of amazing depth, multilayered sediment and beautiful sandy formations.Stuart Aysgarth, the new Viscount Mount Villiars, doesn't know he's playing with fire when he inadvertently runs afoul of Emma Hotchkiss. True, the exquisite Yorkshire lady is a mere sheep farmer, but she also guards a most colorful past that makes her only more appealing to the handsome, haunted lord. Emma has come to him seeking justice -- and Stuart is determined that she will not leave until she has shared her secrets ... and his bed.

She was shorter than he'd remembered. A plump, pretty little bumpkin. That was what he so liked: sweet, naive. Simple.

She caught a glimpse of his neck and upper chest - a remarkably muscular chest with a hint of fine black hair down the centre ...

"You keep me at arm's length, but the keeping me away is pulling me in."

"Englishwomen are so strange."

"I will never be right without you."

“Perhaps you should announce we are lovers in the House of Lords.”
“Fine with me.” He smiled. It was. He’d be happy to tell every man there how he did it. He was damned amazed that he’d managed it on a chair. He half wanted to grab strangers by their shirtfronts on the street and tell them, You wouldn’t believe what happened to me. And with such a fine woman, too.“
“So watch yourself. I’d like to hold you to the bed and do things to you, kiss you, bite you ever so leaving little marks where my mouth has been, before I take you while you’re helpless. I love that, the power in it, the pretense of being a god. And I like other games, some I daresay I haven’t even invented yet. When it comes to sexuality, I’m perfectly adolescent about it. No,” he recanted, "more like an eight-year-old. I play. I have no shame. Only imagination.” He laughed again, a cynical staccato this time.
"We're already connected in a way that feels rare, a confiding, murmuring intimacy between us that, frankly, leaves me a little surprised and circumspect - I don't understand it.