Excerpt from His Perfect Game
“Willimena,” her father snapped, drawing her attention back to him. “I have found a husband for you.”
Abigail’s eyes widened as she gaped at her father. Shock robbed her of the ability to speak. After years of avoiding the fate she would suffer with a husband, in one instant, all her efforts were rendered useless.
Her head spun. Surely this was a bad dream or at the very least a misunderstanding. Sliding her eyes to the unknown man, she hoped he would refute her father’s words. Unfortunately, his unblinking stare only served to confirm it.
As she surveyed him, steely grey eyes assessed her from under dark lashes. His black hair was cropped short around a masculine face. A dusting of hair shaded his cheeks as if he had forgotten to shave that morning. Standing taller than her father, she found him to be quite an imposing figure.
“I-I don't understand,” Abigail sputtered.
“This is Viscount Merrick, and, as of right now, you two are betrothed.”
Merrick. The name sounded familiar, but she could not place it. Although she realized she must have met him before, she could not recall ever seeing him.
Eyes still focused upon him, she tried to recall a memory. She would not call him handsome by any typical definition of the word, but there was something striking about him, something not easily forgotten.
“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Viscount Merrick said, as he bowed to her. “Please excuse me.”
Without another word, he left.
Abigail stared after him, unable to process what was happening, particularly at such a late hour. Was she still betrothed? Had he taken one look at her and changed his mind? She secretly hoped so.
Abigail’s eyes widened as she gaped at her father. Shock robbed her of the ability to speak. After years of avoiding the fate she would suffer with a husband, in one instant, all her efforts were rendered useless.
Her head spun. Surely this was a bad dream or at the very least a misunderstanding. Sliding her eyes to the unknown man, she hoped he would refute her father’s words. Unfortunately, his unblinking stare only served to confirm it.
As she surveyed him, steely grey eyes assessed her from under dark lashes. His black hair was cropped short around a masculine face. A dusting of hair shaded his cheeks as if he had forgotten to shave that morning. Standing taller than her father, she found him to be quite an imposing figure.
“I-I don't understand,” Abigail sputtered.
“This is Viscount Merrick, and, as of right now, you two are betrothed.”
Merrick. The name sounded familiar, but she could not place it. Although she realized she must have met him before, she could not recall ever seeing him.
Eyes still focused upon him, she tried to recall a memory. She would not call him handsome by any typical definition of the word, but there was something striking about him, something not easily forgotten.
“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Viscount Merrick said, as he bowed to her. “Please excuse me.”
Without another word, he left.
Abigail stared after him, unable to process what was happening, particularly at such a late hour. Was she still betrothed? Had he taken one look at her and changed his mind? She secretly hoped so.