Monday: The earl did not need his temper further strained by intercepting Robert returning the longing looks Marguerite was too young to resist casting at him from the dais.
Tuesday: Somehow he kept his voice gentle when a swelling rage within him wanted to pull his dagger free and hunt the earl down.
Wednesday: But the plea in her eyes undid all his noble resolves and his mouth drifted towards her lips like a bee drawn to a seductively blushing rose.
Thursday: He pushed her away a little too hard, for he heard her startled huff as her back knocked up against the log and slightly winded her.
Friday: “If I was so clumsy that you could not feel my love in those kisses, then I am as contemptible a scoundrel as the Earl of Strode.”
Saturday: He had felt the promise of it before, whispering along his soul in those moments when his restlessness calmed as they’d blended their music and laughter.