One Night as a Courtesan. Ann Lethbridge

      “One fifty-five.” A young man. A dandy by the look of him. And cheerfully drunk. Yes. He was the one she wanted. Her heart began to pound so hard it hurt.

      “One seventy-five,” came from the back of the room. A youngish man with dark blond hair pulled back severely from his face. Sprawled alone at a table, he looked more dangerous that any she’d seen so far. He had a bold face, with strong planes and hard angles and a cruel twist to his lips, and his light-colored eyes showed no emotion. He clearly didn’t care if he won or lost.

      Her heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn’t drag her gaze from his beautiful features. The face of a fallen angel. The cynical mouth twisted in mockery. His piercing gaze locked with hers for a moment and he seemed to see right through to her innermost fears and take delight in them.