He tried wiggling his toes to reach the very tip of the boot. Why was his cousin so obsessed with these blasted boots when he should explain his comment? The boots are too tight, Lorenzo continued, adding to Corey’s vexation. The stone floors of the Abbey have been battered far worse over the centuries. He stamped his foot on the thick rug, but the stubborn leather refused to yield. Blast these boots! He was not usually such a slave to the vagaries of fashion, but he wanted to look his best tonight when he was throwing open the doors of the Abbey for the first time since his father’s death more than four years ago, only a few months after Corey had purchased his commission and was sent to fight the French. Standing, he frowned as well when he realized his left heel had not settled into his boot. Corey wondered how his cousin had managed to oversee Wolfe Abbey for those months he had been gone. Yet Lorenzo’s face was perpetually lengthened with some concern or another. His hope that Lorenzo would fail to hear his amusement faded when he straightened and saw the disapproving expression on his cousin’s long face. Corey Wolfe chuckled as he drew on his boot, bending to polish the tip of the toe.
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