Marcus yanked off his banyan and threw it on the bed. What had he been thinking? He growled and raked his fingers through his now short hair, wishing it were still long.

He couldn’t possibly marry Isabelle. True, he was the rightful heir with the title and lands, and because of the death of his brother, the betrothal contract fell upon his shoulders. He sighed and rubbed his forehead pounding with a headache. Isabelle remained the spy who’d made a fool out of him. She was still the deceiving wench who’d tried to kill him.

Stopping in front of the full-length mirror, he stared at his reflection. Would she see Captain Hawk in him? If he stayed in those dandy clothes of his brother’s, she probably wouldn’t see his secret i

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