His eyes were dark, unreadable. Not that she could have read them easily, even in better light. Rupert Carsington’s eyes were not windows into his soul, as Virgil’s eyes had been. But then, Rupert Carsington seemed to keep very little hidden. His words and actions were plain and direct. His anger, too. He didn’t hide it behind a veneer of gentleness and saintly patience. He spoke his mind…instead of trying to dismantle hers.
