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How could a husband confide in a wife who would need a third party to communicate with him? But Braybrook, she thought, would never wish to confide in his wife. He would rather use what tidbits he knew to impress a whoreor a woman he wished to turn into a whore. |
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"I have comfort in that I am an obedient daughter, Joanna said in a rather choked voice. |
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"As dutiful as you are beautiful," he praised, crooking a finger under Joanna's chin and lifting her face. "I cannot tell you how it grieves me that you escaped my notice when I was seeking a wife." |
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Joanna's eyes widened and she bit her lip to restrain a mixture of mirth and irritation. Popinjay! As if he had ever entered anyone's mind as a suitable match for the future lady of Roselynde. That needed a man. Her struggle to find something to say that would not betray her true emotions kept her silent and gave Sir Henry a totally false notion of what she felt. He took the wide eyes as evidence of her amazement that he would have wished to marry her, the bitten lip as regret that it could not be. |
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"Oh, yes, my flower, I would have preferred you a million times over to the pale bud I now have, and I can hardly bear to think of you wasted on" |
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"Please do not missay my husband to me," Joanna whispered, her voice so tight with fury that she could scarcely force out the words. |
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"Ah, my love, you are perfection. Such sweetness of temper! I can scarcely believe you will defend him who used you so coarsely." |
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Long red lashes veiled Joanna's eyes. Behind them she saw the gouges her nails had left in Geoffrey's hand, heard the snake's hiss of her own voice as she told him what she thought. Such sweetness of temper! A giggle shook her. She caught her breath. |
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"Do not weep," Braybrook whispered, leaning forward and sliding an arm around her. |
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A low growl rumbled in Brian's throat. Braybrook looked down at the dog who had always been so friendly as to be idiotic. |
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