The Bluestocking by Christi Caldwell (Wicked Wallflowers #4)
English | 2019 | Romance | ePUB | 667 Kb
The Bluestocking :Two damaged hearts learn there’s a fine line between love and hate in a Wicked Wallflowers novel from USA Today bestselling author Christi Caldwell.
Gertrude, the eldest Killoran sister, has spent a lifetime being underestimated—especially by her own family. She may seem as vulnerable as a kitten, but given the chance, she can be as fierce as a tiger. Her adopted brother, Stephen, has just been snatched back by his true father, and she’ll be damned if she relinquishes the boy to the man reviled throughout London as the Mad Marquess.
Still haunted by a deadly tragedy that left him publicly despised, Lord Edwin holds only hatred for the Killorans—the people he believes kidnapped his son. And not one of them will ever see the boy again. But when Gertrude forces her way into the household and stubbornly insists that she remain as Stephen’s governess, Edwin believes he may have found someone madder than himself.
With every moment he shares with the tenderhearted Gertrude, Edwin’s anger softens into admiration…and more. Is it possible that the woman he loathed may be the only person who can heal his broken soul?
“He’s a stranger,” Stephen said with an indifferent shrug. “And he’s proven to be a monster. Believe—”
“What someone shows himself to be,” she finished the familiar adage.
My God, how is my voice so steady? How, when I’m splintering apart and breaking up inside?
“Stealing my goodbyes,” Stephen whispered, resting his brow against the crystal pane. “Making decisions for me about when I go. Who I’ll see. Who I won’t . . . s-see.”
Gertrude briefly pressed her eyes closed. “He is within his rights.” Even as she said it, it rang hollow. “And he has reasons for his resentment toward our family.” How could the marquess, who’d had seven years with his son stolen, ever have any warmth or affection or anything less than a deep, abiding loathing for the Killorans? Gertrude cleared her throat. “He’ll be expecting us shortly.”
That statement, spoken in a hollow voice, brought her brother back around, his usual sneering self restored. “Ain’t letting you go.”
She cocked her head.
Her brother gave her a once-over. “You or Broderick or Cleo or Ophelia. None of you.” He spat in a disgusting habit that she had long despised but now ignored, focused solely on that statement.
“What?” she demanded, stalking over, her arms still filled with his favorite shirt.”