“We’re at a holiday ball where I’m auctioning off the paintings my dead husband
commissioned for his mistress. Does it sound like I’ve been treated kindly thus far?”
A flush imbued her cheeks with a red glow as she huffed in annoyance. The Bryony
he’d known prior to her marriage had been polite and a tad stiff in his presence—a
genteel lady careful with her manners.
This show of frustration intrigued him.
I can’t afford to be intrigued.”
―
Jemma Frost,
The Grand Mistletoe Assembly