’ ‘Miss?’ gaped the soldier. I can accommodate you below. . ’ ‘Do you take me for a fool, Hilary?’ demanded his betrothed. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. I do not believe that you will marry David Courtlaw.
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