From her room, Tassie watched them go riding down the wide drive between the trees with their collars turned up against the bitter north-east wind. At least Marcus had listened again, with a little more patience, to her continued insistence that her friends would not, could not have stolen the pi...
He wore no coat. His soaked white shirt was hanging open and loose, as he strode towards the pavilion with some sort of pack slung over his shoulder, and his long water-streaked hair clinging starkly to his cheekbones. The heavy rain was sluicing off his tight breeches and wet leather boots, and ...