I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. “Is that a challenge?” She shrugged her shoulders, all ablaze with jewels. ‘No one would credit that you are three years older than I. The clock struck half-past ten. You come to England, and hide in a secret convent in London. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. You simply can’t. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire.
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