His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. It was a shame that they had made such a fuss, she thought as he arrived. "You show more consideration to the feelings of a hempen widow, than there is any need to show. He advanced a step towards her. ’ He quirked an eyebrow. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester.
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