‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. . If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip. Then he turned with a fierce movement to take her into his arms. "But you are a good man, and you'll understand. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. They troubled no one, and as long as they did not noise themselves abroad and make a nuisance of themselves in this Protestant country, no one troubled them.
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