Still, I am curious. Burn your palette and your easel. ” “But I can’t do that. He swung it open and then used his body to pin her against her seat. ‘Unless he is himself a man of substance. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes.
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