The centaur arrives in town and builds a truly ostentatious house, big enough to take up an entire city block, throwing around his money as if it's a calling card into society.
Miss Phoebe Llewellyn, daughter of the late Earl of Crisbane, knows high society sits high on a gated hill, and they aren't admitting anyone. She knows, because she has been cast out. She is ruined, her virtue trampled long ago.
The centaur may think to rise, but he is little more than an oddity, a tidbit of gossip. Society will never accept him.
When she meets the centaur, he robs her of the ability to breathe. It's the way he looks at her, the dark hunger in his eyes, the barely-contained desire there. No one has ever wanted her in that way. Savage, base yearning. Dangerous yearning. Terrifying yearning.
When he asks for her hand in marriage, she can't say she's displeased.
If she weren't ruined, it would be out of the question. But she knows that she has no other prospects. So, marrying a new-money social climber and being lavished with his coin? She's not dismissing it out of hand.
Even if the bottom half of him is a horse .
Even if she doesn't see how one can. with that.
Even if the way he seems to want her borders on bestial madness.
This gaslamp fantasy monster romance is spicy, angsty, and dark. It's got a fixation with horse analogies (mounting, breaking, training, etc.) If a reader will get her bridle in a twist about such things, she should beware.
