“It kicked up dust as it went. Eleanor found her heart in her throat as she pushed her horse to keep up. The weather had stayed dry for over a week now, leaving the roads solid and powdery. Would the occupant push the vehicle so recklessly on wet ground? Knowing the occupant, likely so. He had always been reckless. She doubted seven years had changed him. Drawing in a breath and giving Blossom a tap to her flanks, she urged the horse on and prayed her riding hat did not fly from her head. If any... of her acquaintances saw her now, they would not believe their eyes. Of course, she had left them all behind in France. None of her old friends from England would be surprised to see her in disarray with her hat falling from her head and her curls springing from her head like a jack-in-the-box. Nor would Lord Lucian Deverill, Viscount of Rushbourne. He had always thought her a mess, she knew that much. What a shame it had taken her so long to realise that all those long looks had been looks of disgust, and not admiration.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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