CHAPTER FOUR“What must he think of me? What must he think of me?”
Sheena felt the words pounding against her brain as she ran headlong up the stairs, the colour in her cheeks due not only to the exertion of climbing up the stairs so quickly but also to humiliation.
Why had he looked at her like that? Why had the Duc’s bored, steel-grey eyes seemed to hold a reproach? Or was she mistaken and it was only condemnation and disgust?
How could she have known for one moment that the Comte was going to behave in such a manner?
Sheena, in all innocence, thought that love was something that was kept for the evening or the night. Whispered words in the moonlight or perhaps the quick pressure of a hand as a woman danced with a man who attracted her or ran as dusk fell to meet him at some secret as
