The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. ‘Knew you had the lad with you, and thought you were merely delayed. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. He recalled with exasperating perplexity her clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being unconvincing. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla.
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