Stifled and smothered by an overprotective father, Victoria Emerson's first London Season was fast becoming a dismal affair. No gentleman was good enough for Gerald Emerson's daughter, especially that notorious Nicholas Sinclair, the worst rake in the realm.
And since he was not allowed near the girl, Nick decided to treat her to a desperate flirtation before he abandoned her, knowing that the alarm and apprehension such a mad courting would cause her fond papa would repay him for daring to snub Nicholas Sinclair. But he underestimated the exceptional Miss Emerson, who turned the tables on his devious courting and showed a daring rake the true meaning of persuasion . . .
As his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes. Tory Emerson had been kissed once or twice before. They had been furtive, inept kisses delivered by infatuated young men from whom she had struggled to escape. This kiss was nothing at all like them. For one thing, it was warm and tender and accomplished. And although it did not threaten her, it was insistent. Far from wanting to escape it, Tory was having the greatest difficulty keeping her hands by her sides, when she really wanted to put her arms around his neck -- melt against him. When he raised his head at last and she slowly opened her eyes, she saw a light deep in his gray ones. She put her fingertips to her lips in awe.