If only she hadn’t worn the red silk around her ankle the day Viscount Remaine came to visit her father, none of the mess she soon found herself in would have happened.
The wig burning. A visit from the Marchioness. Being utterly compromised. An impossible betrothal. But she had, and it did, and now the game was on to see just how undone her straightlaced Viscount could be.
… in a battle of hearts, only the reckless remain.