“I don’t think I CAN do that,” she said. She chastised herself for thinking of her husband and lord as being weak. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. She looked down at him and saw that the sunlight was gleaming from his cheeks, and that all over his cheeks was a fine golden down of delicate hairs. This done, he followed the course which Jack had just taken. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. ‘Would you like me to enquire for your mystery lady, Gerald? I know the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme quite well. I am not angry with you, but with this—this—’ ‘Idiot? Imbecile?’ offered Gerald in a helpful tone. “Okay. “But I am your husband,” he said. “Then your name——” “My name is Pellissier. ” “We do.
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