The woman turned around.
As if the clouds had parted to reveal the moon, Lianne saw her face clearly.
Her features were thirty percent similar to Mrs. Lowell's and thirty percent to Yvonne Caldwell's. The remaining forty percent was a unique charm all her own.
Perhaps mellowed by more than twenty years, Talia Kensington showed none of the cunning, diabolical nature Cameron Lianne had described. Instead, she possessed only the poised and magnificent grace of a noble lady.
Beneath Talia Kensington's dazzling beauty, Lianne glimpsed a hint of brokenness, like that of exquisite, fragile porcelain.
Lianne felt the blood stop flowing in her veins. Her breath caught in her throat. She clenched her fists, unsure of what to say.
Talia Kensington's beautiful eyes rested on Lianne, quietly studying her.
There was a resemblance in their eyes—both calm and composed, yet holding a barely perceptible, playful spark.
