Like an avenging angel, he overwhelmed her attackers, leaving one dead and another running for his life. She awoke to darkness and terror, alone in a barn with a stranger named Paul, bloodied yet bandaged with her own tattered petticoats. She remembered nothing, not her own name, not that she was pregnant—only the smoldering brown eyes of Paul, who had killed to save her and was now a wanted man. Suddenly he was her universe, a stranger who would lie for her, die for her, share the same bed, the same passions as they plummeted into the dangerous secrets of her past.
She had no name but the name he gave her. She knew nothing about him save what he chose to tell her—and Paul Lescaut couldn't afford to tell her the truth. It was as if he were born to protect her, to hold her, as if this strange beauty were his fate. Only when he learned her true identity did he know the thrill of fear. In their flight from common enemies they plundered each other's passions, body and soul. But once she knew his true identity, would she see him as the enemy and try to drive him from her life forever.