’ Gerald laughed. Lucy clasped her hands over her ears as it screamed. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. My death, probably. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. ‘That is not your affair. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest.
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