[ She's beautiful when she smiles, Sharpe thinks, and his fingers twitch on he table. He's reaching out even before he realises what he's doing, and his fingers are threading through her wet hair, through the loose strands not caught up by her hands as she wrings the water out, and Sharpe's eyes are fixed on her lips.
Lucille, he reminds himself. He made a promise- and she is a Lady, and he knows well enough that he is unsuited to any Lady. He lets his hand drops back to his side before he stands up. ]
no subject
Lucille, he reminds himself. He made a promise- and she is a Lady, and he knows well enough that he is unsuited to any Lady. He lets his hand drops back to his side before he stands up. ]
I'll get us some drinks, ma'am.