Download A Hellion in Her Bed (Hellions of Halstead Hall, Book 2) by Sabrina Jeffries PDF

By Sabrina Jeffries

" * livid at his grandmother’s ultimatum to marry or lose his inheritance, Lord Jarret Sharpe wagers his luck—and his heart—at the cardboard desk opposed to a very unlikely opponent.
* Mired in scandal after his parents’ mysterious deaths, infamous gambler Lord Jarret Sharpe consents to tamely run the kin brewery for a yr if his Machiavellian grandmother rescinds her ultimatum that he marry. however the gambler in him can’t withstand while beguiling Annabel Lake proposes a guess. If she wins their card video game, he needs to aid retailer her family’s foundering brewery. but when he wins, she needs to spend an evening in his mattress. the end result units off a sequence of occasions that threatens to spoil all his plans . . . and unveils the key Annabel has held for therefore lengthy. while Jarret discovers the darker explanation for her bet, he forces her into one other one—and this time he intends to win not only her physique, yet her heart.
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Extra info for A Hellion in Her Bed (Hellions of Halstead Hall, Book 2)

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Die Sargträger bewegten sich ehrerbietig mit angemessen betrübtem Lächeln, Antoine konnte sich kaum auf den Beinen hal­ ten, die anderen trugen eine den Umständen ent­ sprechende Miene zur Schau, mein Vater biss die Zähne aufeinander. Ich weiß nicht, was ihn plötz­ lich trieb, seinen Bruder auf dem Betonvorplatz zu schlagen, dass diesem das Blut aus der Nase spritzte. Ich erinnere mich nur an das Geschrei des Geschlagenen, meiner Tanten und eines älte­ ren Cousins, der ihn festhielt, an sein hochrotes, wütendes Gesicht zwei Fingerbreit neben dem schwarzen Leichenwagen mit den abgedunkelten Scheiben.

Alles schien plötzlich innezuhalten, zu stocken, es war wie kurz vor einem Asthmaanfall oder beim Stottern. Eine schleierhafte Traurigkeit, die an einen nicht enden wollenden November erinnerte, ließ uns innerlich gefrieren, meine Kehle war wie zugeschnürt, und ich wusste nicht, warum. An solchen Vormittagen irrte meine Mutter bleich und ziellos durchs Haus, wanderte untätig von einem Zimmer ins andere, 39 Olivier Adam setzte den Wasserkessel auf und vergaß ihn, fegte mit dem Besen oder wischte mit dem Scheuer­ lappen herum, obwohl alles sauber war, räumte auf, obwohl kaum etwas herumlag.

Danach ruhte Claire sich aus, und Chloé war ein unendlich zerbrechliches und violettes Etwas, ab und zu schlug sie die Augen auf, und drei Tage lang spuckten ihre Lungen Schleim aus, gelbe, kleb­ rige Klümpchen. Schläuche verschwanden in den winzigen Adern ihrer geröteten Armchen, andere verliefen unter ihrer Nase und versorgten sie mit Sauerstoff. « Dieser Gedanke war wie ein kopfloses Gebet. Ein Gebet für Claire, nicht für mich oder Chloé. Noch heute frage ich mich, wie dieses Flehen gemeint war und wem es eigentlich galt.

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