Sir Roger was a scoundrel. It could be seen easily in his eyes; they were the kind that couldn’t be trusted, sometimes looking as if there was no light shining in them at all. They were dark like the blackest of nights when there is no moon and clouds hide the stars. What light might have shone in them was the devious kind. His heavy eyelids hung low, half covering them, so it seemed. Oh, but the scoundrel in him didn’t stop with his eyes. Sir Roger’s mouth had perfected a wretched sneer as his lip drew up on one side. He might have been a fine man, except for this obvious flaw in his character that made him the worst of all people to catch Cecilia and me in this compromising pose.
I must confess, there had been times I’d looked at him lustily, seeing his broad shoulders and thin waist,
