Entranced, he stared at the name. The room was dark and dusty. Beck, it smells wonderful in here. Could she go through with it? She must. 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. Kneebone, who was on the point of departing. ’ ‘I should do as she says if I were you, Hilary,’ observed Gerald, noting the fierce determination in the girl’s lovely face. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away.
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