This one had just enough pride to trump etiquette and good sense.
With a defiant toss of her head to distribute her brandy-colored locks, she turned and spat the last hairpin aside.
“Bollocks,” he heard her mutter.
Suddenly, Griff found himself battling a grin. She was perfect . Coarse, uneducated, utterly graceless. A touch too pretty. A plainer girl would have better suited his purpose. But fair looks notwithstanding, she’d do.
“Her,” he said. “I’ll take her.”
(Griffin York, the Duke of Halford)