“He shook his head in wonder. "You are magnificent.""I keep telling everyone that," she said with a nonchalant shrug, "But you seem to be the only one to believe me.”

“Your fangs are showing, Miss Lyndon.""Are they?" she asked, reaching up to touch her face. "I shall have to remember to retract them."Charles burst out laughing. "You, Miss Lyndon, are a treasure.""That's what I keep telling everyone," she said with a shrug and a wicked smile, "but no one seems to believe me.”

“How do you feel?” she asked, trying to fluff his pillow. “Other than terrible, I mean.”He moved his head slightly to the side. It seemed to be a sickly interpretation of a shrug.“Of course you’re feeling terrible,” she clarified, “but is there any change? More terrible? Less terrible?”He made no response.“The same amount of terrible?”

“There,” she said triumphantly. “Like that.”He began to wonder if they were speaking the same language.“Like what?”“That! What you just said.”He crossed his arms. It seemed the only acceptable reply. If shecouldn’t speak in complete sentences, he saw no reason why hehad to speak at all.”

“Why didn't you just let me run home?" she asked."I wanted you here," he said simply."But why?" she persisted.He shrugged. "I don't know.Punishment, perhaps, for spying on me.""I wasn't-" Sophie's denial was automatic, but she cut herself off halfway through, because of course she'd been spying on him."Smart girl," he murmured.She scowled at him. She would have liked to have said something utterly droll and witty, but she had a feeling that anything emerging from her mouth just then would have been quite the opposite,so she held her tongue. Better to be a silent fool than a talkative one."It's very bad to spy on one's host," he said, planting his hands on his hips and somehow managing to look both authoritative and relaxed at the same time."It as an accident," she grumbled."Oh,I believe you there," he said. "But even if you didn't intend to spy on me, the fact remains that when the opportunity arose, you took it.""Do you blame me?"He grinned. "Not at all.I would have done precisely the same thing."Her mouth fell open."Oh,don't pretend to be offended," he said."I'm not pretending."He leaned a bit closer. "To tell the truth, I'm quite flattered.""It was academic curiosity," she ground out, "I assure you."His smile grew sly. "So you're telling me that you would have spied upon any naked man you'd come across?""Of course not!""As I said," he drawled, leaning back against a tree, "I'm flattered.”

“Yes?""When you said you weren't angry...""Yes?""Were you?""I was rather annoyed," he admitted."But not angry?" She sounded as if she didn't believe him."Believe me, Henry, when I get angry, you'll know.""What happens?"His eyes clouded over slightly before he answered. "You don't want to know."She believed him.”

“Did you wonder?” he whispered. “Did you leave me and wonder what I hadn’t told you?” He leaned in, just so she’d feel his lips move whisper-light against her ear. “Did you want to know what I did when I was wicked? Do you want me to tell you?” he murmured. He felt her jerk slightly in surprise, and he chuckled. “Not about them, Francesca. You. Only you.”-Michael Stirling”