He caressed her tenderly, with no trace of the Sebastian who had previously knocked her off her feet with a slap across the mouth. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. “Never. “Go from me, husband!” With a flourish he brought her arms behind her and her body was slammed to the floor. He guided himself between her legs. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. .
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