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The Merchant's Bride

[ON HIATUS!!!!] What are the chances that a selfish, spoiled and arrogant daughter of a noble man in the little town of Griffinwald would fall head over heels in love with a foreigner, an affluent merchant who bathes in the very waters of pride, arrogance and bloated ego? What are the odds that the universe would plan their meet in the most dramatic way; a missing handkerchief flying off with the wind; Scared horses whinning loudly in the distance, a banging thunderstorm is the grand plan. What if this merchant has travelled this far to seek out a certain girl who should become his bride, only to land his heart in another woman's bosoms? ___________ EXCERPT ____________ "The housekeeper is not," said she. "And I am not dumb enough as you think. I can figure my way out of here." "You can?" "Yes, I can." "Hm." Rochester travelled his hand up to his lips. Bussing his mouth sensually with his thumb, he felt his lips divide. Hoping it would have the desired effect on the girl, he said, "I am still confused. Why haven't you left here already? Is there perhaps something else you would need me to do for you? Want to warm my bed perhaps?" "You are disgusting, sir! And I hate you!" Louisa yelled, and in a couple of sprints, she was outside his chamber, shutting the door with a slam. ====== PS. This book is set in thesame fantasy world as my other book, "The Dark Lord's Maiden." You could add up the other book to binge read up to the latest chapters to understand the personality of these characters. But then again this book can also be read as a stand-alone, apart from TDLM. NOTE BELOW! The first chapter has been renamed “Prologue [Silver blue] ” and the former content has been changed. Please clear cache or re-add to Library if you cannot access it. Cheers! And happy reading COVER ART BELONGS TO ME. DO NOT STEAL! ínstαgrαm hαndlє: @nαncчjímσffícíαl fαcєвσσk @ Nαncєє Jímí fα¢євσσк ραgє @nancy writes

Nancy_Jim · Histoire
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207 Chs

Discomfort I

"I AM TELLING THE TRUTH," the man said, folding his arms across his heavy chest.

 He glanced up at the book with a thick red paperback and shook his hairless head. "You won't read that now, will you?"

 The seventy-something or more similar books were neatly stacked away on a private shelf. It was a large hall boasting the collection of unholy gore of books. Usually, on a gloomy day, especially on a Tuesday morning, literate gents would have zero interest in satiating their minds with tales and myths of demons and their vanquishing. Fewer men would be more drawn to reading books that centred on the world's politics, economic resource state stratification, & C & C. Fewer still would starve the visitor of their undivided attention. Thirty-year-old Rochester D. Blenntmort, peering contentedly at the pages in front of him, pulled out his eyes to look at his private investigator, hoping for some better information.