Dear Genevieve,” she would say, “I love that you are full of finer feelings and insist upon protecting me from myself, but if you do not rodger me this instant, I may perish away for the lack.“
Although, did two ladies together call it rodgering? Or was there a proper, more feminine word? Gertruding, perhaps?
Imogene felt a wave of relief crash through her body. Not that it signified. Not that she could hope that it meant Madame Lefoux was something like her. But she did hope. Because, God, those dimples and those eyes and that lean body and the waistcoat that Imogene would unbutton slowly and the tiny bit of white throat where the top button was open which would be soft under her lips and… STOP!