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Her mouth twitched at the corners, though he couldn’t tell whether it was with satisfaction that she’d guessed correctly, or from some private amusement. The afternoon sun was filtering through the openwork in the brim of her straw hat, casting tiny pinpricks of light across her nose and cheeks.
“Is that because you’d hoped I wouldn’t expect an apology?” she asked. “Or because you felt you didn’t owe me one?”
He sighed mightily, and decided to stick with the truth. “I didn’t believe I owed you anything. I didn’t think I’d done anything.”
“No?” At last she turned toward him, her expression incredulous. “Most gentlemen would regard placing a gaming marker where and how you did as having done quite a bit.”
Richard drew himself up straighter, unconsciously squaring his shoulders as if preparing for an actual blow. London was different. None of the women he’d known on Barbados would have been shocked. They would have found such a gesture flirtatious, yes, and suggestive, but they also would have regarded it as a sign of admiration. They would have been flattered. It wasn’t as if he’d pushed her against the wall and shoved up her skirts. He did have sense a of right and wrong, after all.
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