Читать книгу The Winter Queen - Amanda McCabe - Страница 3

His hair was black as a raven’s wing, falling around his face and over the high collar of his doublet in unruly waves. He impatiently pushed them back, revealing high, sharply carved cheekbones and dark, sparkling eyes.

Eyes that widened as they spied her standing there, staring at him like some addled peasant girl. He handed the lady his empty goblet and moved toward Rosamund, graceful and intent as a cat. She longed to run, to spin around and flee back into the woods, yet her feet seemed nailed into place. She could not dash off, could not even look away from him.

“Well, well,” he said, a smile touching the corner of his sensual lips. “Who do we have here?”

The Winter Queen

Harlequin^® Historical