Marie was considering his words as he spun her, then pulled her back (safely?) into his arms.
A lamb, indeed.
“Honestly, Jack, if you’re considering devouring me, it should be somewhere less public.” Not that any of that was appropriate to say in polite company, but Jack wasn’t politely company and there was little to no chance of anyone else hearing her over the music.
It would be wise — even while she was looking up at him with the eyes he was complimenting — to remember that if he could lie about about who he was he could lie even easier about how pretty her eyes were. Instead of being flattered and batting her lashes at him. Yes, it would be very wise to keep that in mind.
Because, though she was still here with him, though she hadn’t run screaming, any other options were very limited. Much like any communication back home. Which, she supposed, were the pitfalls of marrying a man and running off to Europe with him and his circus. She couldn’t very well make him answer up for his lies without putting her own well-being in jeopardy. And she wanted to believe in him so very, very desperately. She wanted the adventures he’d spun for her. She wanted to see the world with him content in the knowledge that he couldn’t live without her.
And if she demanded a divorce, and somehow managed to flounce home on her own, she’d be giving up all of that.
“Maybe I like having you believe I’m sweet and innocent.” Well. No. She was innocent. She wasn’t worldly. She’d wandered right into his trap like a fly into a spiderweb. Sweet was touch and go, though he’d been far more on the receiving end of her sweetness than her ire. “Maybe I’m a lion in sheep’s clothing. You like surprises, don’t you?”
no subject
A lamb, indeed.
“Honestly, Jack, if you’re considering devouring me, it should be somewhere less public.” Not that any of that was appropriate to say in polite company, but Jack wasn’t politely company and there was little to no chance of anyone else hearing her over the music.
It would be wise — even while she was looking up at him with the eyes he was complimenting — to remember that if he could lie about about who he was he could lie even easier about how pretty her eyes were. Instead of being flattered and batting her lashes at him. Yes, it would be very wise to keep that in mind.
Because, though she was still here with him, though she hadn’t run screaming, any other options were very limited. Much like any communication back home. Which, she supposed, were the pitfalls of marrying a man and running off to Europe with him and his circus. She couldn’t very well make him answer up for his lies without putting her own well-being in jeopardy. And she wanted to believe in him so very, very desperately. She wanted the adventures he’d spun for her. She wanted to see the world with him content in the knowledge that he couldn’t live without her.
And if she demanded a divorce, and somehow managed to flounce home on her own, she’d be giving up all of that.
“Maybe I like having you believe I’m sweet and innocent.” Well. No. She was innocent. She wasn’t worldly. She’d wandered right into his trap like a fly into a spiderweb. Sweet was touch and go, though he’d been far more on the receiving end of her sweetness than her ire. “Maybe I’m a lion in sheep’s clothing. You like surprises, don’t you?”