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.
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