’ ‘I thought so,’ Gerald said with satisfaction. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. But not today. Suddenly he stopped short. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. \"I've got some chores to do and I usually cook dinner on weeknights. He stood away from her. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. ” “I promise.
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