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Anthony sneezed and pushed them aside. “Mother, I am trying to have a conversation with the duke.” Violet looked at Simon. “Do you want to have this conversation with my son?” “Not particularly.” “Fine, then. Anthony, be quiet.”
“Good God, I know exactly what is going on in his brain right now, and it has nothing to do with poetry and roses.” Simon pictured laying Daphne down on a bed of rose petals. “Well, maybe roses,” he murmured. “I’m going to kill him,” Anthony announced.
