“He imagined Isobel sitting demurely inside. Then he pictured her in his coach, perched astride him as he made quick love to her, her face flushed as he pleasured her, her ugly bonnet askew. His finger twitched on the trigger of the pistol. The door of the inn crashed against the wall, and a burst of noisy song and the thick smell of sour ale followed the innkeeper out of the taproom. He stalked across the yard to the coach, his shoulders hunched belligerently. The coach window slid open and Cha...rles Maitland’s face appeared, fat and sallow in the golden light. “Ho, there, my lord! Your bloody ‘package’ is eating me out of house and home! Says he won’t go until he’s finished his meal,” the innkeeper complained. “I agreed to do this for the gold, and I’m going to need more money. Fine French wine doesn’t come cheap, and he’s already had three bottles of the best.” Adam nudged Phineas. “Not Lady M, then. Any guesses as to who the gentleman might be?” he whispered.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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