She hated the manor. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. John Sheppard. She was shifting, moving back. Wood. "I've been robbed, maltreated, and nearly murdered by Jack Sheppard. For the love of Heaven, Jack, don't move!—Don't alter a muscle, if you can help it. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms.
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