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She threw his hands away. Unshed tears of hot shame shone brightly in her eyes now that he had seen the badges of that which she had tried so hard to hide.

“I shouldn’t have come in here,” she began uncertainly, heading for her own room and cursing herself for not realizing earlier the state of her night attire. But she was not to be so lightly let off, for Nicholas Pencarrow had had enough and he was at the door before she was.

“Now, Brenna,” he said softly. “You are going to tell me how a girl well cosseted in a family of unquestionable name came by such abuse.”

“I won’t tell you!” He would hate her now. Hate her and despise her and expose her. Everything was finished, over. Black despair spiraled inward. “Please, Nicholas, let me go.” Her voice was an aching whisper.

“I can’t,” he returned. “Damn it, I can’t.”

Fallen Angel

Harlequin Historical #171