"He ran away from the massacre of the 28th Regiment in the colonies," Mrs. Conrad's afternoon salon had been paralyzingly dull until he had sauntered in. Emeline wondered what his name was as she thanked the Lord for his appearance. Definitely not a man she would associate with cowardice. He was as out of place as a jaguar in a room full of tabby cats: raw, vital, and not quite civilized. Lady Emeline Gordon took a sip of tea and glanced over the rim of the cup at the gentleman in question. Conrad leaned close to impart this bit of gossip. It was made from iron, and it beat on the surface of his chest, strong, brave, and steadfast. Although his limbs and face, and indeed all the rest of his body, were exactly like every other man created by God, his heart was not. Now Iron Heart got his name from a very strange thing.
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