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“I know when a man has kissed me,”

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she said to Duke Prescott. But Princess Meredith Elizabeth Penwyck wasn’t sure. Not at all. For all she knew, she might have imagined that returned pressure of his lips. That sense that he was kissing her back, feeling some semblance of the madness that had stricken her. Imagination? Wishful thinking?

His head lowered an inch and she barely kept herself from taking an unthinkable step away from him. “When I do kiss you, Your Royal Highness, I assure you that you’ll know it.”

She locked her knees to keep them from wobbling. “When?”

“If.”

“It’s not like you to retreat, Colonel. Or misspeak.”

“Of course.” His expression was once again frustratingly inscrutable. “Good morning, then, Your Royal Highness.”

Meredith watched him leave.

When he kissed her?

If only.

The Princess And The Duke

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