new croquet mallets; or 。。。
Orwhat?
Blair didn?t give up easily and she was determined not to let yesterday get her down。 Maybe
Marcus and Camilla needed to get their cousinly bonding thing out of the way。 They?d
undoubtedly soon tire of each other?s pany。 Besides; Marcus was likely to forget
Camilla?sname when he caught a glimpse of Blair in her new knee…high black python…skin boots
and her new black lace Gossard corset and matching boy shorts; which she planned on modeling
for him that very night in between courses during the champagne…and…chocolate room service
dinner she?d planned。
Tucking the still…warm credit card back into her new Smythson billfold; Blair dropped her wallet
inside the limited…edition hand…painted Goyard bag she?d picked up the day before and walked out
of the store and onto the quiet stretch of Press Street。 She?d been to London only once with her
family; when she was twelve。 They?d stayed at the Langham Hotel just off Regent Street; visited
Old Ben and Buckingham Palace; seen the crown jewels; watched the changing of the guard;
drunk tea; and eaten scones。 As far as she could remember; she?d spent most of the trip listening to
Madonna on her iPod。 But that was London as atourist。 Now that shelived here; things were totally
different。
Everyone said London was gray; overcast; foggy; and depressing; but it had been clear and sunny
all week。 The trees were in full bloom; there were lush gardens on every block; and every building
was ornate and beautiful。 Everyone also said that the English were standoffish; with bad teeth and
thick accents; and although their teeth and accentswere distractions; so far every person Blair had
spoken to had been unfailingly polite。
Of course they had been?she?d only talked to salespeople who worked on mission。
Blair checked her cell again: no messages。 She tossed the phone back into her bag。 She
understood that a gentleman had to pay extra attention to his guest?family was very important to
the English upper class?and Camilla was lovely; really。 She really was。 Even if she did look like a
blond cartoon freakworm。 And Blair understood; really she did。 But she was ready to spice things
up a little; and the more Lord Marcus made her wait; the more fidgety and eager she got。 Maybe
the whole thing was just a ploy to turn her on as much as possible?
Um; maybe。
Strolling down the street in the general direction of her hotel; Blair felt like a cross between Julia
Roberts inPretty Woman ?the scene where she goes shopping in a giant black wide…brimmed hat
and has all the Rodeo Drive salespeople waiting on her hand and foot?and Audrey Hepburn inMy
Fair Lady ; the beautiful Cockney waif who rises from obscurity on the streets of London to
bee the toast of the town。 Except Blair was neither a prostitute nor a waif from the gutter。
Details; details。
She glanced up and down the street; but every store window; every awning; looked familiar。 Had