They found Ruth reading to Spurlock, whose shoulders and head were propped by pillows. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. It is so that I may marry an Englishman. But to make an arrest to be like a revenge? No, a thousand times. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. “Very sexy.
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