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How lowering it was to find that one’s childhood hero was only a mortal man after all.
Hetta had seen plenty of that amongst the actors—their dramatic personalities seemed to lend themselves to equally dramatic personal affairs—and
Angus had always been articulate. That was at least half his appeal, even if the other half derived a lot from the breadth of his shoulders.
When both would have burst into exuberant thanks, she held out a hand to forestall them. “Later,” she said tiredly. “I cannot be thanked before breakfast.”
“Love makes us all insufferable, I think,” Hetta said mildly. “Love,” Marius said grimly, “has nothing to do with it. Greg’s too young to tell love from infatuation.”
The girl reminded her strongly of a younger Phoebe, full of sensibility but not much sense.
Hetta stared at him with disbelief. “Does everyone in this household have some deep, dark secret they’ve been keeping from me in order to reveal it at the most dramatic moment possible?” Wyn’s lips twitched. “Probably.
She’d been worried about what Wyn hid beneath his skin. Perhaps she should have been worried about what lay beneath her own.
I beg you not to look at me as if I am about to expire; it pricks my vanity.
when he stood there, unrepentant and beautiful, smiling at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “How long are we going to dance around this thing between us?” she asked him crossly.
“And I will ruin you,” Hetta added. She wasn’t actually sure how one went about ruining people, but she was sure that she could if she put her mind to it.
“You can’t be appalled at the idea that he would want to marry me and then equally appalled that I don’t want to marry him within the space of the same conversation. Besides, it’s none of your business.”
“That’s settled then,” she said. “Now will you stop brooding and, for the nine heavens’ sake, kiss me?”
