Now, as she turned from side to side on the soft pillows, she fought against admitting that she was wildly and crazily in love.
This is what she had always wanted to feel about a man, this is what she knew love would be like, but for the Marquis – ?
He was the man she had come to Paris to hate, the man she was certain she despised as a pleasure-seeker, a man whom she suspected of living off money given to him by women, a man whom she had expected to find empty-headed and without any serious side to his nature.
Was she wrong? Or was she merely a stupid unsophisticated girl who had been swept off her feet by a very experienced and professionally fascinating man?
It was all very difficult to sort out in her brain and she felt almost as if her own mind had ceased to function, while her bod
