She killed her fiancé. Or so she believes.
Lady Elizabeth Ashworth fled into the Yorkshire moors with blood on her hands and a storm at her back. When she wakes in the arms of Lucian Rothwell, the Earl of Thorncliff, she makes the only choice left to her ? she pretends to remember nothing.
Lucian doesn't believe her. She's too sharp, too defiant, too impossibly composed to be the helpless creature she claims. But the bruises ringing her throat tell a story she refuses to speak, and he finds he cannot turn her away.
What begins as reluctant shelter becomes something far more dangerous. She provokes him. He protects her. And every stolen glance, every battle of wits, pulls them closer to a truth that could destroy them both.
Because "Anne" is a lie. And the man she left for dead may not be dead at all.
