From the moment Jillian McKinley locked eyes with Evan Wilson, the attraction between them was undeniable.
To Jillian, he seemed the perfect suitor-handsome, charming, and someone with whom she could begin a courtship, marry, and build a life.
But E...
"Innocence only lasts for so long until it's either surrendered or stolen."
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Rage simmered in Jillian McKinley's veins, coiling hot beneath the poised mask society demanded she wear. Each breath she drew only fanned the flames. Evan Wilson had spoken his piece—loudly, cruelly, publicly. She, however, had been denied even the dignity of a defense.
He had shamed her before half the gentry of Cleveland. And her truth now clawed at the walls of her chest, desperate to be heard.
Against her will, memories of that night rose like smoke.
"All this dancing has warmed me considerably. I believe a moment of fresh air is in order. Will you join me, Miss McKinley?"
His voice had been velvet-lined—indulgent, intimate. She remembered how her breath had caught, how her pulse had fluttered like a startled bird. Merely dancing with Evan Wilson had made her lightheaded, and now he sought her company alone.
His ice-blue eyes held hers with unshakable confidence. Jillian—eighteen, sheltered, and utterly enchanted—felt herself softening beneath his gaze.
A moonlit garden, unchaperoned, with a man rumored to be half temptation, half trouble... She knew what a respectable lady should refuse.
But reason trembled beneath the intoxicating force of his attention.
She nodded.
From the very night Mrs. Minchum introduced them at her grand fundraiser ball weeks earlier, something between them had felt charged—alive. Jillian, wealthy in her own right and uninterested in fortune-hunting men, had thought Evan different. Charming. Attentive. A touch dangerous, yes—but what young woman of romance-bent heart could resist a little danger?
He squeezed her gloved hand and guided her out into the cool night air. The breeze brushed her heated skin like a blessing.
"What if someone sees us?" she asked, breathless with both thrill and unease.
A wicked glimmer lit his eyes. "Let them. Soon enough, you shall be my wife. A stroll with your future husband is hardly scandalous."
Her heart stuttered. Her future husband.
The words struck with the force of a dream long yearned for.
"Y-you mean... we are to be married?" she whispered.
His smile was slow, assured—carefully crafted to devastate. "Yes, Jillian. I am deeply in love with you. I intend to make you my wife. Do you accept?"
Her world brightened, sparkling with imagined futures—children, a warm home, a man who looked at her as though she were the only soul alive.
