WORD COUNT: 12,000
EXCERPT: Though she instantly hated the stranger, she couldn't help noting how handsome he was. Golden hair, bright hazel eyes, the facial structure of a Greek god. He wore fine, expensive clothes that marked him as a member of the nobility. He seemed familiar. Had she seen him at a ball last season? Her face lost all remaining color as she realized his identity. He was Marcus Elham, the Duke of Charlotteshire. Unlike her father, he was extremely wealthy - and extremely powerful. "Can you speak, fair maiden, or are you mute?" he asked. She wished she could throw a stone at his head. "I can speak." He smiled. "So fair maiden who can speak, do you or do you not want your clothes back?" She clenched her teeth. "I do want my clothes back, so if you could hand them to me, I would be much obliged." Ignoring her, he mused, "A habit. So you're from the convent..." "Excellent deduction," she muttered. "Was that a sarcastic remark? I thought that nuns weren't allowed to be sarcastic." She wanted to snort. Some of the nuns at St. Camilla's Convent were definitely sarcastic, especially Sister Grace, who loved to give Persephone a hard time for her "extraordinarily poor arithmetic skills." "May I have my clothes back?" she asked, near the edge of desperation. "That depends..." Frustration brewed in her. "Depends on what?" He lowered his head, grabbing her chin. "If you're willing to give me a kiss." Before she could push him away or slap him, he put his mouth on hers. She caught her breath. She had kissed a few boys before, but the kisses had always been chaste; they might as well have been pecks from her grandmother. This kiss from the duke, however, was anything but chaste. He thrust his tongue between her lips, threatening to completely consume her. And for some reason, she liked - no, loved - it.
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