She had jammed the disintegrating bouquet of hideous flowers back onto that wretched concoction of hers that even people in the dark ages would not have considered suitable. If he had not been so infuriated by her confounding behavior, he would have found the sight of her atrocious hat impossibly amusing. She was obviously perturbed, but of what he did not know. Had they not given the best of themselves to each other yesterday? But today? What in hell was going on? He tapped his hand, unthinking, on the side of his thigh. He knew women. He knew how they thought—in an abnormal tangle of sensibilities tied to mysterious, ofttimes perceived slights. But V wasn’t like that. Except right now she was not acting in her normal forthright manner. He had not a clue what was swirling in that petite, intelligent head of hers. But he was going to find out. Oh, of that there was no question. He would follow her to London.
