” “Well, he was presumptuous,” Annabel remarked, “and he wasn’t nice about it. You make a game with me, imbecile. I will give you all some tea, and then I must leave you for a few minutes. No matter what the fire and force of his passion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goes out. You don't know what you have got; I do. And the Duke, too—I heard him say that a married secretary would be worse than useless to him. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. Yes, yes, there is no doubt about it. I want you to be my lover.
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