Sublime

“This house is enormous,” she objected. “He might be lost for days.” “We can only hope.”

“No, he’ll take you into his arms, masterfully, and gaze into your lustrous orbs—” “My what?” “—and press his burning lips to yours with passionate ardor—” “You’ve read too many novels,” Lillian said.

“I’m the Monster of Mayfair’s associate,” the boy said. “Apprentice, if you will. His protégé.” “How remarkable. How did this come about?” Her husband gave her a blank look. “I’ve no idea.”

“I will,” Helen exclaimed cheerfully. “Yes, you are my friend. Let’s meet at a teashop—I’ve always wanted to do that. Without my sisters, I mean.

“Aren’t we going to continue?” “Continue what?” “This game.” His voice was so low it seemed to crawl to her over the flagstones, then shiver up through the soles of her feet. “Am I a Russian prince? No. Is my favorite color yellow? No. Would I object if you were to come inside and remove every stitch of your damp clothing?” His voice did the