From the Author
Duncan found himself trying to catch a peek down the bodice as she bent over her trencher. He cursed himself. Even when he couldn't think of a single reason to be attracted to her, he couldn't stop thinking about bedding her. It was perverse. She was nothing he thought he wanted in a woman...and everything he desired.
And that gave him this morning's name.
"Good morrow, Venus."
He expected the same response he always got, which was, of course, none. So he was surprised when she raised her chin with a jerk and fixed him with a blistering stare. A casual observer might have called her eyes brown or perhaps hazel, but to Duncan, her eyes were the color of the moors--a dark, mossy green flecked with rich brown and bright gold--and like the moors, they could appear at one moment soft and inviting, at another fierce and forbidding.
At the moment, their mood was definitely the latter. "It is one thing to attempt to make me betray myself, but quite another to openly mock me, sir."
Duncan's eyebrows went up. "Whatever makes you think I'm mocking you?"
"I have looked in a mirror on more than one occasion," she said with a snort, "and I am well aware I am no man's ideal of feminine beauty."
"Perhaps you have spent your life in the company of the wrong men."