There were a hundred roles he had tried and failed at, often spectacularly. Husband was one of the few remaining at which he might yet achieve dazzling success. He would not let the opportunity slip through his fingers. Not this time. He stood by the curtain to the main part of the tent for just a moment, looking back. He pressed his fingers to his mouth, almost blew her a kiss. He stopped himself, realising how ridiculous it was. Then he did it anyway, damn it, and let the curtain fall. There had been a time—yesterday, being honest—when dawn would have found him searching through the bottles
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