It was a powerful one, however, and he kept his fist clenched round her coarse cotton shirt in order to avoid acting on it. “You and I,” he growled, swinging her round to face him, “are going to talk.” “Perhaps later,” she suggested. “After supper and the charity raffle.” For all her flippant words, her eyes were wide with fear. Good. At this moment, he wanted her to be terrified. He kept a firm grip on her shirt — she could hardly run off without it, could she? — and marched her alongside as he retraced their steps and retrieved her scattered belongings. Jacket. Bag. They kept marching back toward the warehouse until they saw, looming in the mist, a large black carriage. She stiffened as soon as she saw it. “Oh, no.” “Oh, yes.” “I am not getting in that with you.” “Why not?” She squirmed against his grip. “It’s . . . not proper.” He would have laughed, except that she’d knocked his sense of humor sorely out of joint along with his nose. “But running around London in the middle of the night, dressed as a boy, is.”
What do You think about A Spy In The House (2009)?
