Brand could not stop staring at Madelyn.
She was gloriously beautiful, and in that dress, a whisper shy of a revelation. How had he never noticed how beautiful she was?
She stood now at the wheel, lamenting about the death of her father, a man who seemed never to have valued her above a commodity with which to amass his wealth. Nonsense. He cared not if she had abandoned him herself. At least now, she was free, and with the death of her husband, possibly freer than she had ever imagined.
Her eyes remained on his after her confession. What was she waiting for? A reprimand? He did not care for the death of such a man. A man who had controlled her life, possibly in the same vein his mother sought to control his.
And he knew how greatly and indeed she craved for the command of her own life.
His eyes dropped to her feet. They were hidden under her dress. When he was away from Mainecroft Hall, had she walked about barefooted? Had she allowed any else to see her scar?
