Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. Delight surged through her as her breasts, shoulders, and belly touched his naked flesh all at once. I’ve never seen her quite so sure of herself. Lost ground must be regained. The Bach Cantata was played fairly well, Sebastian thought, for a lot of children. I don’t quite know why. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. I had not been near the Royal Society since—since you disgraced me.
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