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Heavens, what a man!

Before she could gather her scattered wits, his gaze raked over her with insolent thoroughness.

“You’re very lovely, but I don’t recall asking for your business.”

Phoebe gasped at the man’s effrontery. Her hands balled into fists, but she strove to control her temper.

So this was the great Gabriel Cutter. The same man who had decided to deny the mail-order brides their rightful passage on his train.

Her anger seethed anew.

“It is I who has business with you, Mr. Cutter.”

He didn’t seem impressed by her statement. Instead, he began circling her, scrutinizing every inch of her frame in a way that reminded her of a hungry lion she’d once seen being fed at the London Zoo.

The Other Bride

Harlequin Historical #658