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Page 12

| Through the purplish haze of cigar smoke he could see Sasha at the bar, gazing raptly at a picture above it. It portrayed a ship at sea, tossed by stormy waters. He knew her thoughts without asking. She was thinking of that damned aristocrat, Woodrow Rutherford! |

| Damn it, Ashton thought. He wished that he could purge Sasha's mind of that man. Ashton wanted her all to himself! He gazed admiringly at her lovely breasts curved above the low, rounded neckline of her homespun dress, which also displayed a tiny waist and gently rounded hips. She was blessed with dark eyes and long, flowing raven-black hair; her smile was charming. |

| She was the sort who melted a man's insides, clear into the core of his being! |

| His jaw set, Ashton glared at Crispin. "No, by damn, no matter what, I won't let her change her mind." |

| "Not even if the fancy aristocrat shows up to claim 'er?" Rufus asked, his adam's apple bobbing in his scrawny, long neck. |

| "Damn it, mate, he's been gone three years now," Ashton said in an agitated rumble. "It's plain to see he's not coming back. But it's something that Sasha hasn't accepted yet." He swallowed hard. "Perhaps she never will." |

| "Who could abandon anyone as sweet and pretty as Sasha?" Rufus asked, looking at Sasha through the window, never failing to appreciate her vivacious curves and lovely face. |

| "Aye, how could any man turn his back on Sasha?" Ashton said, following Rufus's gaze. Then he laughed lightly. "She's so damn pretty it hurts. |

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