*Matilda*
A week has passed, and I can't stop thinking about him. He's constantly in my mind, in my dreams as vividly as though he were actually in my bed. It irritates the devil out of me that I have begun to scour the gossip rags, which I generally avoid because they have focused on my lascivious tale far longer than necessary, but I'm desperate for any news of what he might be doing. It doesn't reassure me when I find no mentions of him at all.
What is he? A blasted saint?
It's even worse that I pace the parlor, sipping whisky, my gaze constantly drifting to the clock, as I wait for Gina to return home from the Claybourne ball. Guilt pricks my conscience because I'm not truly interested in what sort of success my sister may have had at the affair. Rather, I'm hoping for some little t
