” “It’s so strange to think of you—troubled by such things. ’ ‘Oh, is he?’ Gerald said grimly. ” He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench. ‘He isn’t Valade, and the Comtesse de St Erme is absolutely furious. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard.
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