“A dozen times the flame of Marianne’s faith wavered. He had intended to reform but found it beyond him—he was too deeply sunk in vice. He had changed his mind, stolen the necklace again, and left for good. No, John would not do that to her. She remembered that eager, innocent, boyish smile at the doorway when he told her he would speak to the duchess that very minute. She remembered his lips pressing on her forehead and the soft words he had spoken about his good fortune in finding her. Surely ...that had not been mere playacting? But then there was that pistol he had pointed at Dirty Dick. He would have shot the man, had she not stopped him. He was a trained killer. The sort of brutish ferocity he had seen in Spain would be enough to degrade a saint. Her mood was in its dark mode when the long-awaited knock came at the duchess’s door. “Let him in,” Her Grace said, arranging her best shawl about her shoulders. Macheath came in smiling. “Your Grace, and Miss Harkness,” he said, making an exquisite bow.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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