“Yana is a beautiful, strong heroine. I am nothing like her.”
“Well it certainly isn't good.”
Iana glanced at the library door, hearing the sounds of shuffling footsteps and then more knocking. Carolo’s men, they’ve come for me!
Hurrying across the library, she stopped at the window and peered down into the night. Below she could just make out the pale white of Lady Iana de Hoven’s silk nightgown as she fled through the market square. “Lady Iana!”
Shying away beneath his curling grin, Iana spread her manuscript in her lap and took up the quill that was offered to her. I can’t believe I’m doing this, I can’t believe this is happening. She thought, fingers trembling as she gripped the feather, dipped the pen and prepared to put ink to paper.
Limply she hung in his arms, momentarily filled with the sound of boots, crackling fire and drawing swords. She held tight to the manuscript.
Having recovered, Carolo blinked evenly at Emil and smiled mirthfully. “Well my dear,” he fixed upon her a dark gaze that reminded her of a fox, cunning, sly. “It seems your hero has come after all.”