"Twisk drew Alasdair absconding to the closet. He is so ashamed."
Alasdair giggled to himself as he read, the end of every chapter bringing devious rapture. He always chose the more malevolent path of the two, always being honest and diplomatic with his word, but unable and unwilling to overlook any of the more salacious encounters. Those debauched scenes missed were skimmed with a “Well, let’s see what would have happened if I chose Count Allan over Countess Justine,” and though his eye only caught some of the words, the dissolution that the skipped meetings and possible assassinations promised even more delight in a second reading. It was a matter of course that he must read the book again and choose all the paths not hitherto chosen, but the first reading must be done with the most disreputable of decisions. His smile broadened as he turned every page, his eyes widening with wicked delight.