Baroness Chantel Blackwood is the epitome of Regency perfection, her life constrained by tight corsets and the suffocating expectations of high society. She is a prize to be won, a virgin flower waiting for a suitable aristocratic match to secure her family's future. But from the salon window, her gaze drifts not to the wealthy lords in the ballroom, but to the rough, sun-bronzed groundskeeper tending the estate's maze. Sawyer is a man of the earth, his hands calloused from hard labor and his patience wearing thin with the upper class's pretense. He knows a lady like Chantel is forbidden fruit, yet the heat in her eyes when they meet near the rose arbour tells a different story. She doesn't want a gentleman with soft hands; she craves the unvarnished touch of a working man who knows how to take what he wants without asking for permission.
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