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prospects were little to his taste. Milo de Bohun was more the picture of a courtier, most elegantly clad and smooth tongued, but his pale eyes slid aside from Alinor's direct glance, and his lips grew loose and wet when he looked at her. |
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To Alinor's surprise, Simon made no comment, not even when she refused a dance with him in favor of the grinning Bigod. He bowed stiffly and stepped back, so consumed with jealousy that he dared not trust his judgment or open his mouth. These were the wrong men to play with, he knew, but he also knew thatfor himthere was no right man for Alinor. |
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Repetition of these tactics at the morning meal had no greater effect and, having racked her brains for an excuse to seek Simon out and found none, she ran into him just outside the stairway to the women's quarters. Before he could turn angrily away, Alinor seized his wrist. |
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"Oof, you are hard as a stone wall," she complained, "but just the person I desired most to see in the world." |
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"And what has brought about this change in heart?" Simon growled, turning his arm. |
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Alinor clung to his wrist like a limpet. "Your business, or rather your friend's. Come to where we will not be overheard." Simon looked rebellious and wrenched his wrist free, but he only went to a window embrasure where he sat down and folded his arms across his chest. Alinor stood just in front of him. |
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"It is useless to tell me to praise William Marshal to Isobel of Clare," she said tartly, "when he stands like an image against the wall as she dances with every other heiress-seeker in the room." |
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"Are you accusing Isobel of Clare of immodesty?" Simon grated. "Her behavior is most innocent compared with that of another I have recently seen." |
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"So, you object to my behavior, do you? I had almost despaired of your common sense. Have you yet complained of me to the Queen?" |
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