God’s blood, he was so handsome! He was tall and lean and hard. She wanted to touch his thick, coal black hair. She wanted his mouth on hers again. She had thought of nothing but those two kisses for weeks. She doubted the kisses of Guy d’Auray and Etienne St. Mihiel could possibly equal the kisses of the marquis, but she certainly intended to find out before she committed herself in marriage to any man. “Adali says we have a guest, Mama,” she said, feigning innocence. He rose, Jasmine noted, restraining himself from going forward to greet her. He bowed formally. “Mademoiselle Leslie.” “M’sieu le marquis,” she answered, and held out her hand to him to be kissed. He complied and, releasing the dainty hand, said, “Your mother has given me her permission to court you, mademoiselle. Do I have your permission also?” Clever, clever man! Jasmine thought.
