“I seemed to leave out the part that as he ran for his life from the cuckolded husband, he quite aptly forgot to take a few choice articles of clothing, namely, his breeches and shirt and jackets. All he had in his hands were his boots and delicately plumed hat.” Angel’s eyes widened, her mouth opened in shock before a startled laugh erupted from her mouth, she smacked one hand over it, still staring at him, before pulling her hand down to hesitantly ask, “You jest! Sir, you jest!” She whispered horrified, before an image of the overweight prince came to mind and a decidedly large and pale behind was seen running through the streets of London. She couldn’t stop the laughter even if she wanted to, feeling ashamed at laughing at such a horrible predicament the prince had gotten himself into but unable to refrain from chuckling royally. “Oh, I do not believe you, Asher, that is utterly horrid,” she exclaimed, still chuckling softly after long moments.
