A gentleman can’t let a lady sleep in an armchair while he takes his ease in a bed.” “But you are not a gentleman,” she pointed out. “You are the greatest scoundrel in all the land.” He tilted his head to consider that. “All right. You ...
Keep your hands off me.” She spoke viciously, through her teeth, and he caught a glimpse of her deVere ancestry. She was a virago in tiny, fragile, fairy form.
Good night, my lord.” The words were pronounced in her most withering tone. By contrast, he remained quite alarmingly unwithered long after she left.
She narrowed her gaze. “I don’t trust you to keep your eyes closed.” “Smart woman,” he said. “I wouldn’t trust me, either, if I were you.
I only hope I may not be ruined,” she was saying miserably. “I should be obliged to marry you after all, and then I’d likely murder you before the wedding breakfast was over.
