The Dangers of Deceiving a Viscount
“Insanity. Yet it was the most tantalizing offer Phoebe had ever received in her life.
She lay in her bed, staring at the window and watching the moon’s light drift across the floor. She could not stop thinking of the way Summerfield had touched her, or the way he’d looked at her—the memory of it made her shiver.
Once, Phoebe had confided to her mother that the way some men looked at her made her feel uncomfortably exposed. She felt ashamed when they looked at her in such a manner, as if she were somehow inviting their lust.
“Oh, darling,” her mother had said sympathetically, “you are a beautiful girl. I daresay no woman in the ton is more beautiful than you.”
“Really, Mamma,” Phoebe had said, feeling herself blush.
“It is true. And men are creatures of the flesh—nothing pleases them more than looking upon a beautiful woman. But one day, a man will look at you not with lust in his eyes, but with fever.”
“Fever!” Phoebe had echoed, pausing in her painting to look at her mother.
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