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she wo-uld, the next pos-sib-le chan-ce she had, she swo-re it to her-self.
She wan-ted to cry. It had be-en so very long sin-ce she'd ac-tu-al-ly shed
te-ars, she had tho-ught she wo-uld ne-ver be ab-le to aga-in. It wasn't as if
she didn't long to. For the first few ye-ars she was glad that par-ti-cu-lar
fe-mi-ni-ne we-ak-ness had left her. The-re was no ro-om in her li-fe for
reg-rets, for te-ars, for be-mo-aning her fa-te.
But la-ter, when things got bet-ter, she'd so-me-ti-mes lon-ged for the
re-le-ase te-ars co-uld ha-ve bro-ught her. But not-hing sum-mo-ned them
forth.
Not re-li-ving the hor-ror of se-e-ing her pa-rents on the block. Not the
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me-mory of Char-les-Lo-u-is when she'd last se-en him, his fa-ce ga-unt with
hun-ger, his eyes dark and ha-un-ted, his body no mo-re than skin and bo-nes.
Not the nights she'd sold her-self to fe-ed her brot-her. Not the first and
only man she'd kil-led, Mal-vi-ver, the scum of the earth, but a hu-man be-ing
no-net-he-less.
But lying he-re, trap-ped be-ne-ath a man who co-uld ha-ve had her so-ul if
he'd wis-hed it, she sud-denly wan-ted to cry the te-ars of a shat-te-red
fif-te-en-ye-ar-old vir-gin. Wan-ted to so much that she co-uld al-most fe-el
the stin-ging he-at in the back of her eyes.
Sud-denly he rol-led away, sit-ting up and cros-sing to the ot-her si-de of
the car-ri-age. He ma-de a gre-at bu-si-ness of stra-ig-h-te-ning his co-at,
re-ar-ran-ging his di-sar-ran-ged nec-k-c-loth with ca-su-al ex-per-ti-se as
if the-re we-re not-hing mo-re pres-sing to do. As in-de-ed, the-re might not
be.
Ghis-la-ine scram-b-led in-to the cor-ner, as far away from him as she
co-uld ma-na-ge. She felt li-ke a cor-ne-red ani-mal, and yet he se-emed to
ha-ve lost all in-te-rest in her. And then he glan-ced up, his eyes sta-ring
in-to hers, and she re-ali-zed he hadn't dis-mis-sed her at all.
"I mis-sed my bre-ak-fast," he sa-id. "Not to men-ti-on my mor-ning sha-ve.
And the-re is al-ways the dis-tinct pos-si-bi-lity that I wo-uld ha-ve
enj-oyed an ad-di-ti-onal ho-ur spent in the pur-su-it of my ot-her bo-dily
ple-asu-res as well, if you hadn't ta-ken off. You've dep-ri-ved me of my
cre-atu-re com-forts, Ghis-la-ine. You're go-ing to ha-ve to supply them
yo-ur-self."
"I'd be mo-re than happy to sha-ve you," she sa-id in a de-cep-ti-vely
swe-et to-ne of vo-ice.
He smi-led wryly. "I'm cer-ta-in you wo-uld be. I think it might be wi-ser
to re-ser-ve that task for Tavvy. I'd pre-fer to emer-ge with my thro-at
in-tact." He le-aned back, stret-c-hing his long legs out in front of him, and
she co-uldn't help her in-s-tin-c-ti-ve re-co-il, pul-ling her own fe-et up
un-der-ne-ath the vo-lu-mi-no-us skirt.
He didn't miss her mo-ve, of co-ur-se, and his thin smi-le wi-de-ned. "And
whi-le sha-ring my bed might pro-ve a no-vel ex-pe-ri-en-ce for us both,
that s not whe-re yo-ur ta-lents lie, is it?"
She con-t-rol-led her ini-ti-al start of re-vul-si-on. "What do you want of
me?"
' To co-ok me bre-ak-fast. We'll stop at the next pos-ting ho-use, and you
can pro-vi-de me with so-met-hing to put me in a bet-ter fra-me of mind. An
ome-let, per-haps, with fresh ham and mus-h-ro-oms. Wit-ho-ut the rat
po-ison."
"But as a fla-vo-ring it's es-sen-ti-al," she rep-li-ed, un-wil-ling to be
co-wed.
"You'll be my of-fi-ci-al tas-ter. And trust me, even yo-ur hat-red of me
wo-uldn't be worth go-ing thro-ugh the un-p-le-asan-t-ness of po-iso-ning. I
know from re-cent ex-pe-ri-en-ce." He stro-ked his ro-ugh, stub-bled che-ek
with his long fin-gers, sur-ve-ying her tho-ug-h-t-ful-ly. He le-aned ac-ross
the car-ri-age, and des-pi-te her ef-forts to flinch away he to-uc-hed her
fa-ce. "I've mar-ked you," he sa-id, his vo-ice dre-amy. "I pro-mi-se to
sha-ve be-fo-re I kiss you aga-in."
She jer-ked her he-ad away from him. "Pro-mi-se not to kiss me aga-in," she
sa-id, "and I might for-go the rat po-ison."
"Cer-ta-inly," he sa-id easily, le-aning back, and she re-le-ased her
pent-up bre-ath.
She co-uldn't qu-ite be-li-eve her go-od luck. "You pro-mi-se?" she as-ked,
as-to-nis-hed.
"Of co-ur-se." His smi-le held a ru-eful swe-et-ness. "The prob-lem is, I
al-ways bre-ak my pro-mi-ses."
It shoc-ked her. "Ha-ve you no ho-nor?"
"Not a tra-ce." He so-un-ded as-to-nis-hingly mat-ter-of-fact abo-ut it. "I
wo-uld ha-ve tho-ught you knew that by now. An ho-no-rab-le man wo-uldn't
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