*Evangeline*
I am mortified. Quite simply and completely mortified.
I sit on a bench in the hallway and fight to quell my trembling. I have been carrying on a conversation with a man in his bedchamber… worse than that! In his bed… as though we were sitting in the garden sipping tea and nibbling on biscuits. With nothing except a thin sheet hiding the treasures of his body.
Oh, how I want to explore those treasures.
Falling asleep on his chest was lovely. He has such a magnificent chest. Even the scars don’t detract from his rough beauty. I can’t imagine that he has gained any of them after he came to live here. No, he would have acquired them when he was a lad living on the streets. I want to weep for what he must have endured.
Who can blame him for turning to deceit in order to gain
