To her satisfaction, the captain reddened a trifle. He kissed her deeply and hungrily. A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon. The island castle at Port Herculis had been part of the trade off, all to be kept as quiet as the circumstances of her second marriage and her “suicide”. Went up to Somerset House to examine the will before he did it. Their lovemaking became a whole new realm for her as he was experienced as he was subtle. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again.
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