“I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said. Beside me on Anna’s table was a pistol. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. They would arrest him for the French spy they had thought her at first. He thought he heard a scraping sound as he turned the handle. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. ” Brendon laughed softly. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. "Then you ought to be thankful to me for the warning. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. .
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