He was also her new husband.

His lordship crossed his arms over the barrel of his chest. He was dressed in naught but shirtsleeves and a kilt. Back to the fire that crackled in the fireplace, the outline of his broad shoulders glowing in the darkness.

His eyes locked on hers. Haughty. A little…heated.

Charlotte pulled back her shoulders. Preparing for battle.

“You understand your duty as my wife, yes?” he asked.

She tipped her head. “I am to provide you with an heir.”

“We begin tonight. Ready yourself.”

Then he turned and stalked out of the hall, footsteps echoing across the vast, empty space. A man—valet? footman?—cast Charlotte a sympathetic glance before scurrying after his master.

She shivered but managed to keep her spine straight. She would not cower. Even if she did have to sleep with that beast tonight.

It was a business transaction, nothing more, she reminded herself. He needed an heir. She needed safety. And there was no safer place than this fortress in the Highlands.

Its walls kept the monsters of the world at bay.

But what, she wondered, about the monsters within those walls? Who would protect her from them?

She’d have to do the job herself, she decided.

I pull up to the barn and hit the knob on my car stereo, killing the audiobook of My Romp With the Rogue. It’s the third book in my friend Olivia’s historical romance series, and so far, it’s pure deliciousness.

I’ve always loved romance. In fact, I love it so much that I teach a class on it at the College of Charleston.

But lately, I’ve been especially obsessed with the genre. Romance novels are just the comfort I’ve needed after my dad passed away last year. Mom passed two years before that.

I miss my family, more than words can say. But romance makes me feel less alone. It makes me feel hopeful.

Stepping out of my car, I notice there’s a shiny, hulking Yukon Denali parked next to me. The thing looks like it could eat my Mini Cooper for a snack. Everything about it screams aggressive, from the huge wheels to the giant chrome grill.

It has to belong to one of the venture capital guys backing Rodgers’ Farms, my newest interior design project. I went to grad school at NYU, so I ran into corporate banking types plenty. All sharply cut power suits and pretentious need to splash out obscene amounts of cash.

Judging by this guy’s flashy car, he’s no different. Yeah, I’m a professor of romance, so I know all about the danger of judging a book by its cover. I don’t mean to fall into the same trap. But seriously, just how big and shiny and chrome-covered does your car need to be?

I check out the dilapidated barn in front of me. It’s a hot mess, from the peeling red paint to the gaping holes in the roof.

It’s also charming as hell. Character galore and plenty of history to go with it, I imagine. Tons of potential.