She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. It's infernally provoking. “I see the difficulty. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. I swear to you, solemnly swear to you, I will save your son's life, nay more, will befriend him, will place him out of the reach of his enemies, if you consent to become my wife.
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