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... She was not graceful. There was no elegance in the way she pushed herself off the Duke of Ford’s chest. Her hands, which had been gripping his lapels as if they were the only solid thing in a spinning world, now shoved against the fine wool of his coat with desperate force.
She tumbled backward, her teal silk skirts rustling aggressively, filling the small space with the sound of friction. She hit the opposite seat with a thud that jarred her spine, but she didn’t care about the pain. Sh ...
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