Not because she wished to be a queen, not because she cared to bring about an alliance between the two countries; no, it was because she was afraid and had burned the bridge behind her.
The tan thinned on Carmichael's face, but his hand was steady.

Never would he forget the tableau.

She sat still in her chair, her lids drooped, but a proud lift to her chin.

The collar of pearls round her neck had scarce more luster than her shoulders.

How red her lips seemed against the whiteness of her skin! Beautiful to him beyond all dreams of beauty.