“He’d stretched himself full length upon the sand, boots crossed, arms folded underneath his head, and when she came around the grassy dune she nearly fell upon him. ‘Faith!’ she said, and laughed, and let him pull her down to rest beside him. In a lazy voice he said, ‘You’re late.’ ‘The countess wanted my opinion on a newly published tract that she has lately finished reading, on the Union.’ Moray’s mouth curved. ‘She’s a rare sort of woman, her ladyship.’ Sophia agreed. She had never known a w...oman as intelligent, or capable, or fearless, as the Countess of Erroll. ‘I do not like deceiving her.’ He rolled his head upon his arms to look at her. ‘We’ve little choice.’ ‘I know.’ She looked down, sifting the warm sand between her fingers. ‘She thinks only of your happiness,’ he said, ‘and to her mind an outlawed soldier who must soon return to France, and to the battlefield, would hardly be as suitable a match as…well, the commodore, let’s say, of our Scots navy.’ ‘British navy, now,’ she absently reminded him, not liking to imagine him at war.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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