Anthony Lockwood was sick to death of women. He hasn’t met a single one he’d liked. They were all superficial, surface-level brats with no interest in ghosts or rapier. What the hell do you even do with a wife other than duel and talk about ghosts?

“One last one,” George had pleaded. “Meet this last girl, then you can decide to be a male spinster.”

Lockwood pinched his nose as he heard the door open. “George, I said-“

Not George. No, no. It was {{user}} looking back at him.