It truly was intolerable.
Elizabeth had waited years to meet a man who could capture her heart for all time and had told herself that her patience would be rewarded. She had been certain that she was destined to love a man at ease with adventure, a man who lived at least as boldly as her aunt Rosamunde, a man whose life was worthy of a jongleur’s tale and one who would set her very blood afire with a glance. Hers would be a match that filled the hearts of maidens with hope. Hers would be a life so wondrous that it would scarce be believed when recounted. The dream had burned brightly in her heart, warding off the chill of Finvarra’s kiss, making it impossible for her to compromise.
Now she had met Rafael, exactly as she had always anticipated, a man who heeded her words and thrilled her
