“As I said, you have mistaken me for another. London is full of drab little peahens, sir. Now, then, I’m leaving,” she said in a huff. “To change?” he asked, unable to stop from goading her. “To write a poem… — Charlotte Featherstone Copy Share Image
“Somehow, without her awareness, she'd obviously sought him out during the night, curling around him like a vine while she'd slumbered. Mortified, she tried to pull away. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't realize... that is, I didn't mean to... to..." "Sleep… — Tracy Anne Warren Copy Share Image
