“Ha ha ha. Well none of their wives look like me in any case, do they?” said Melissa, relishing the turn of conversation.“As if. Fuck, just the ...ight of you in a skirt like that will drive them fucking bonkers!”And me too, I thought ruefully. Still, there was a difference, wasn’t there? A big one.Melissa gave a salacious grin. “I have plenty of skirts like this. Some are them are shorter in fact. I have plenty of nice skimpy tops too.”“Good. Consider it an integral part of your job to wear all. Miserable place, cold and unfriendly. Terrible food, awful, not fit for a field hand." Andrew M'Kenna flipped out the tails of his plum-colored coat and sat on Nevers' straight-backed chair. "But now I'm safely home and content to be down here rusticating, especially since there's to be no racing this year, damn their eyes." He tossed his hat on the desk, crossed his silk-clad legs and adjusted the folds of his gray breeches to show off the pairs of silver buckles at his knees."Yes, I see. But. More

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