His hands reached under her skirt. "He acts queerly, too. Turning, she flew for the nearest door. His pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat Lady Trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. From all angles he was at a disadvantage—in weight, skill, endurance.
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