The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. . . She was furiously angry. ” He looked at her, his eyes illuminated by the glow of the dashboard. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. ‘He is not in England, you understand. She told him the story of her parents, her marriage to Iovelli, the loss of her baby, the kidnapping after the miscarriage.
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