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374 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published July 30, 2013
”I’m sorry,” she said, finding her tongue. “Have you taken up residence?”
“For two months,” he said. “Until my roof is repaired.”
“Ah,” she said. “How lovely that Douglas will have a companion in vice so conveniently to hand.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Vice? How interesting you would sieze on that so quickly.”
“It is the first thing that comes to mind when one considers my brother.” She looked him up and down. “And you, I imagine.”
“Good heavens,” he drawled. “It must have been the first thing to come to your mind, then, when I opened the door for you. Should I be flattered?”
The golden flecks in her eyes glinted. “Probably not,” she replied. “I imagine the two of you, thoroughly foxed, unable to walk, lying in your own filth as you sleep it off – no doubt snoring viciously and twitching every few moments.”
... "But most appalling of all was the profusion of ringlets curled at her temples. In the dim moonlight, it looked like she had a bunch of grapes at each temple. "Have you something against flattering fashion?" he asked. Her eyes all but ignited. "This is very fashionable!" "But not flattering on you," he said bluntly. "Even a darker shade of blue would be better. You look like you're wearing a half-opened umbrella."*This review is of an ARC provided by the Amazon Vine Program
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He didn’t want to run the other way when he saw Miss Bennet, as vexing as she was. He wanted to best her, to leave her speechless; he wanted to hear her confess that she was wrong and he was right, about anything at all. And most worrisome of all, he wanted to kiss her senseless when she did so. Maybe even before. He must be cracked in the head.
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"... He arranged a balloon expedition, just to impress you. He asked you to dance—he even argued for your acquiescence. I’ve heard enough gossip to know he’s not regularly out in decent society, and certainly not to dance with unmarried young ladies. Even if you wish to blame all that on your brother," Evangeline said as she pursed her lips, "I’m quite certain Douglas never told him to look at you as if you were a fascinating riddle he can’t stop thinking about and longs to solve."
Tristan glanced at Douglas, then back at her. “It’s for you,” he whispered, handing her the flower. “For saving us from a thrashing.”
She took it, mildly pleased but recognizing a dodge when she saw one. “Why did you make a wager?” she asked again, but Tristan had joined Douglas at the door. After a moment, they slipped out, with one last whispered thanks from Douglas. Joan put the rose beside her pillow and flopped back down with a sigh. Her stomach grumbled loudly. A flower was lovely, but if he’d really wanted to thank her, he might have brought a teacake at the least.
His mouth twisted. “You don’t understand.”
Joan heaved a sigh. “No, of course I don’t. I could never possibly understand what it’s like to be a gentleman with my own fortune, able to do as I please with no one to say me nay. Heaven preserve me from such unbearable oppression.”