His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. Too much blood has been shed already. " "Never!" cried Mrs.
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