Secret Diaries Of Miss Miranda Cheever - Plot & Excerpts
He wished it had been the brandy. Brandy would have been a hell of a lot simpler than this. Miranda. What the hell had he been thinking? Nothing. He obviously hadn’t been thinking at all. At least not with his head. He had kissed Miranda. Hell, he had practically mauled her. And it was difficult to imagine that there might exist anywhere in Britain a young woman less suitable for his attentions than Miss Miranda Cheever. He was going to roast somewhere for this. If he were a better man, he supposed, he would marry her. A young woman could lose her reputation for far less than this. But no one had seen, a little voice inside him insisted. No one knew but the two of them. And Miranda wouldn’t say anything. She wasn’t the sort. And he wasn’t a better man. Leticia had seen to that. She had killed whatever was good and kind inside him. But he still had his sense. And there was no way he was going to let himself anywhere near Miranda again. One mistake might be understandable. Two would be his undoing.
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