But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. It was the blood she found that cemented her decision that her foster daughter was a criminal. Your father…. “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt.
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