CHAPTER EIGHT
After a time Druscilla stopped crying, but she lay still with her face in one of the pillows.
She thought of the anger on the Marquis’s face, of the expression in his eyes and of the sarcastic and cynical note in his voice as he bade her ‘goodnight’.
She could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers, but she was still quivering under the passion beneath his kiss and the possessiveness that seemed to suck her strength from her and leave her limp in his arms.
And yet she now knew to her surprise and for some extraordinary reason that she did not understand that she had not been frightened.
From the first moment when he had taken her in his arms and crushed her against him she had felt weak and helpless and had no desire to fight him.
Then she remembered the glitter on
