She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. Go off and live together—until we can marry. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. She gave her lips to his without resistance. Be honest, and you will be happy.
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