She pulled her hand away quickly. “Delicious!” she murmured. He resumed his listening. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. I do want them. It is a most wonderful piece of good fortune, as I suppose you will be prepared to admit. ’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. He was accustomed to such surprises, and enjoyed them. His smile faded. ” “You haven’t answered my question.
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