Cecil Vane had the kind of beauty that made women sigh and men nervous. At twenty-four, he was the most talked-about young man in London—beautiful, wealthy, and possessed of a tongue so sharp it ha...
Cecil did not disagree. His flat in Mayfair was a museum of the exquisite: Persian carpets, Japanese screens, a collection of Chinese porcelain that his grandmother had brought back from the Exposition Universelle. And in the corner of his study, behind glass, sat a Chinese green serpent, six feet long, its scales the color of emeralds dipped in moonlight. He had bought it at Smithfield—the...
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