“Lucien threw back his head on a shout of derisive laughter that disintegrated into a violent fit of coughing. Tarquin waited impassively as his cousin fought for sobbing breaths, his chest rattling, a sheen of perspiration gathering on his pale, sallow complexion. “By God, Tarquin, I do believe you’ve finally lost your wits!” Lucien managed at last, falling back into his chair. He was clearly exhausted, but he still grinned, a gleam of malevolent interest in the dark, burning sockets of his eye...s. “I doubt that,” the duke said calmly. He filled a glass with cognac and handed it to his cousin. Lucien drained it in one gulp and sighed. “That’s better. Eases the tightness.” He patted his chest and extended his glass. “Another, dear fellow, if you please.” Tarquin glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was ten in the morning. Then he shrugged and refilled the viscount’s glass. “Are you able to listen to me now?” “Oh, by all means … by all means,” Lucien assured him, still grinning.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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