Once she heard him mutter, and she leaned down. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. ‘Burned them, one by one, right before that fellow’s eyes. Proof that the scoundrel had risen from the dead—for he was dead to his father! He glared at the female whose appearance in England had revived those painful memories—churning unbearably since Brewis Charvill had brought him the news and put him in the worst of tempers—and the fury spilled out. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes.
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