Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. “DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. "And when I further tell you," continued Jack, "that, after yourself and my mother, I am the next heir to the estates of my grandfather, Sir Montacute Trenchard, you will perhaps own that my caution is sufficiently disinterested. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. ‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart. You are afraid of kisses. “Can you come out tonight?” “Um, sure, I guess. "Miss Thornhill's a charming girl. You might even tire of me by then, you know. .
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