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“A fat lot of good that does me, since I can’t see him.”
“— a gentleman of high spirits and quick wit and seemingly smitten with you as well.”
There was a silence.
“Smitten,” Phoebe said at last. “Smit-ten. The word sounds like a skin disease if you think about it too much.”
“He smiles every time he sees you,” he murmured quietly. Was he jealous?
“I smile every time I smell cherry pie.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Trevillion said disapprovingly. “I don’t see why you’ve rejected him out of hand.”
“You sound like a querulous old aunt, scolding children for running through the house.”
“I am older than you,” he replied stiffly, “as I’ve pointed out on numerous occasions.”
A terrible thought struck her. “Are you shoving me at Mr. MacLeish because I kissed you?”
“It was my very first kiss, you ought to know,” she said very rapidly, because sometimes it was just better to say the embarrassing thing and get it over with. “I’m sure I’ll improve with practice. In fact, I’m sure of it. Almost everything improves with practice, don’t you think? And
really, if I had a just a bit of help from your end next time—”
“I am not kissing you,” he said with the awful finality of a judge pronouncing a death sentence.
“You know very well why not.”
“Nooo,” she said slowly, thinking it over. “No, I can’t say that I do, really. I mean I know why you think we oughtn’t kiss again: you’re as old as the Thames, you’re below me in rank, I’m too young and frivolous, and you much too serious, et cetera, et cetera, and et cetera, but frankly I don’t have any reasons not to kiss you.” She stopped for breath and to think and amended her statement. “Unless, of course, you’re either (a) a murderer running from the law or (b) hiding a secret wife. Are you?”
“I . . . what?”
“Are you,” she repeated patiently, “either a murderer running from the law or hiding a secret wife?”
“You know I’m not,” he said with impatience. It was a good thing she was so stubborn, because that tone might have put off many another young girl. “Phoebe—”
“So then there’s no reason at all not to kiss me again.” She folded her hands in her lap and smiled.
Page Count: 352 pages
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing (May 26, 2015)
HE CAN GUARD HER
Lady Phoebe Batten is pretty, vivacious, and yearning for a social life befitting the sister of a powerful duke. But because she is almost completely blind, her overprotective brother insists that she have an armed bodyguard by her side at all times-the very irritating Captain Trevillion.
FROM EVERY DANGER
Captain James Trevillion is proud, brooding, and cursed with a leg injury from his service in the King's dragoons. Yet he can still shoot and ride like the devil, so watching over the distracting Lady Phoebe should be no problem at all-until she's targeted by kidnappers.
BUT PASSION ITSELF
Caught in a deadly web of deceit, James must risk life and limb to save his charge from the lowest of cads-one who would force Lady Phoebe into a loveless marriage. But while they're confined to close quarters for her safekeeping, Phoebe begins to see the tender man beneath the soldier's hard exterior . . . and the possibility of a life-and love-she never imagined possible.
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