“Why yes,” Marc said. “You’ll take up resilience at the cottage with a staff of… let’s say eight?”
“I’m the Comtesse!”
“Wrong. You were. That title belongs to my future wife.”
Blood quickly flushed through that face, even through the white power. Marc made out the building veins and blotchy complexion reminiscent of a rotten tomato. In the past he would have run for the hills, but she was powerless to stop him.
“I’ll need at least twice that,” the Countess claimed.
Disclaimer: This excerpt from Man of War is currently in development. There may be typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth.
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