“It should always be an unforeseen happiness. —Stendhal Miranda couldn’t sleep that night because she was thinking about her father. He might be alive. Somewhere. He had to be. Her conviction that he had survived was simply too strong. But where in heaven’s name had he gone? And who had tried to kill her? She sprang from the bed, went to the door and opened it quietly. Since the attack with the cravat—Ian’s cravat, she forced herself to admit—the suites of rooms on either side of her had... been occupied. The one on the right housed Lucas; the one on the left, Ian. She supposed she should be flattered that two handsome men, both well respected in London, should set themselves up as her protectors. Instead she felt torn and deeply suspicious. One moment she was certain Lucas was telling the truth about their past, their secret trysts, the tender flowering of their love.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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